Alone Is A Five Letter Word For Pain
by salanderjade
Summary: In the aftermath of his greatest victory, Peeta Mellark lost everything. The star-crossed love story is a lie. His mentor betrayed him. His family abandoned him. He lost his leg in the Games. The Boy with the Bread is broken. How will he cope? Timeline: End of 74th Games through Mockingjay Read and review. This is not fluff.
1. Chapter 1

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

A/N So an awesome plot bunny was presented to me by a lovely reader and I had to leap on it….uffirefly-hope that this works for you…

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Blast it.

Part 1: Fire

I am Peeta Mellark. I am sixteen years old. I am a co-victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games. I am on the train coming home from the Capital. I have lost my leg to the Games. I have been lied to. I have been betrayed. I have been a fool. I should be dead. I wish I was dead. But wishes don't come true for guys like me. I should have eaten those berries when I had the chance.

DENIAL

I see the truth in her eyes and it cuts like a knife. It wasn't real. None of it. I had come into this with every intention of dying for the girl that I love. It suited my romantic sensibilities. Make the deal with Haymitch to bring her home. Get in with the Careers so that I could protect her. Fight Cato to give her the opportunity to run. Rot in a bed of mud and reeds until Claudius Templesmith made it worth her while to dig me out. Taste her kisses and lay skin on skin in the cold confines of that cave thanking God, Haymitch, and even President Snow that I finally got the chance to be close to her. Finding her in a puddle of blood and falling apart because she had done for me what I wanted to do for her all along. And in the end, feeling like the luckiest person in the world because not only am I alive but the girl of my dreams loves me back. It's surreal. It's a fairy tale. It's a lie.

Haymitch won't look at me. He's known all along that it was a pipe dream. A pretty picture that we sold to the Capital in exchange for our lives. She and Haymitch are two of a kind. They can communicate without words. Somehow, she knew exactly how to spin it, how to play it, how to distort it until even I fell under her spell. I thought she loved me. I thought it was real. Haymitch knows the whole story. He knows that I naively begged him to help me die so that she could live. He knows that I planned it almost from the moment that I stepped on that stage. The irony almost chokes me.

I can't help but run those images of stolen moments in the cave through my head. She had to feel something. She kissed me like she meant it. She's not that good of an actress. She has too many walls and hang-ups to ever pretend to be something she's not. Maybe she does love me and just hasn't realized it yet? Maybe I'm so used to looking in from the outside that I can't accept the fact that she really does love me. I've watched and waited for so long, afraid to take that leap. I didn't believe that she could ever love me back. Why would she? My own mother doesn't want me, never has. How could I believe that Katniss Everdeen could ever give me her heart? But those kisses felt real. Her caring for me, her stubborn refusal to leave me, had to come from somewhere. It can't have all been a lie.

The almost inaudible sounds of my leg remind me of another thing I gave up to the Games. I willingly took the tourniquet off my leg to give Cato a humane death. Doing so was the right thing. It was the moral thing. That choice makes it possible for me to look myself in the eye as I stare blankly into the mirror and wonder if this is really my life. Nobody ever mentions my leg. They skip over that part as if it didn't happen. I'm reminded every time the stump aches, every time it clicks, every time I hear the slight hitch in my step. I'm not the man I used to be in a very literal sense. It doesn't really matter that I'm not whole anymore, right? I am still alive. I can be normal again. I can still be me. This doesn't really have to change anything, does it?

My father's smile is forced when I come to the bakery. My brothers won't meet my eyes. My mother looks through me as if I'm not there. At least on that front, nothing has changed from before. I take a certain amount of comfort in that as strange as it sounds. It is a thread to my prior life, the life I had before the Games and the person I used to be. They treat me like a distinguished guest, not someone who has walked these rooms since I learned how to walk. It's as if the cakes I lovingly decorated never graced the front window. It's like I died, and a stranger who wears my face has come back home. Does my family love me? Yes, I believe they do. Do I still have a part in their lives? No. I lost my place when my name was called at the Reaping. I can't go back to my life. I can't make them love me the way they did before the Games. I convince myself that they will eventually see that underneath the Victor, I'm still here. I'm still me. I'm still me.

ANGER

I threw my leg this morning. I couldn't get the straps to line up. I couldn't get the damned thing secured. I couldn't pretend that everything was fine when the simplest part of my day had suddenly become the most difficult. The frustration welled up in me and I felt something break. I saw a thousand shades of red as the life that should have been mine rose up before me. This isn't how it was supposed to be. This is not my life.

The leg crashed into the ornate mirror that hung over the carved dresser in my bedroom. The shards flew out in a spray of silver, the tinkling sounding musically in the gray light. I felt waves of pity and grief threatens to engulf me and tamped it down. I force myself to get up and retrieve the leg. My punishment for my brief lapse of control is to hop shakily while hanging onto any convenient piece of furniture. I feel hot tears gather as I make my way across the room but refuse to let them fall. My heart cries out, "Why me? How could this happen?" I know that I won't get an answer. Tottering like a two year old, I finally reach the leg and ease down to grab the straps. My balance waivers and I fall, the glass cutting into my knees and hands. The pain pierces the tether that I've maintained on my emotions. I grab the pillow and bite down, a scream escaping in muffled gasps and stifled moans.

Finally, calm rolls in and soothes me. I slip the covering from the pillow and tear strips from it to bind my hands. That small task accomplished, I pull the straps tightly over my stump and push myself to my feet. I survey the damage both to myself and my so-called home. The wall bears a dent and the wooden frame is in pieces. I blow out a frustrated breath and head downstairs to get a broom and dustpan. The bad thing about letting yourself go is that eventually you have to clean up the mess you made. I just wish that some things were as easy to fix as a broken mirror.

I'm surprised to hear voices coming from the dining room when I go downstairs. Pulling the belt of my robe more securely around my waist, I clump down the final few stairs and peer into the room. The sight that greets me causes my jaw to drop and my temper to ignite. My mother is wearing a fancy dress that could have only been produced in the Capital. She claimed her part of my Victor winnings without a single word of protest. My father wouldn't touch it. He declined graciously when I offered it. I didn't do it out of a guilty conscious. While we always had more than most in the District, we were by no means rich. I wanted to reclaim something of my old self; the selfless and forgiving side that I was sure had left me on the train. It was that part that I was trying so desperately to keep intact when I broached the idea. My father's jaw dropped and he couldn't get a word out. My mother leaped into the silence and commented that it was only right since I had so much. I needed to fulfill my obligations to my family. She still wouldn't look me in the eye but had no trouble accepting the purse I handed over each month.

She is not alone as she makes herself at home in my house. The florist's wife and the apothecary's wife are staring wide-eyed at the finery before them. My mother has procured an ornate tea service from the well-stocked kitchen. Some of the bakery's finest scones and pastries are displayed on a decorative platter. She sits like a queen entertaining her friends at my table. She treats this place as if it belongs to her and hasn't been bought with the blood of children. The knot that closes my throat cuts off my greatest asset, my persuasive tongue. My unanswered questions suddenly find their answer. This happened because of her. She never wanted me. She never gave me the slightest hint of love or affection. The only touch I had ever received from my mother was a blow or a slap. She never expected me to come home. The only reason she's glad I'm here is the exalted status that being the mother of a Victor has given her in the District.

The smile on her face belies the flinty hardness that enters her gaze at the sight of me. I barely hear her cordial explanation and the suggestion that I should go back upstairs and rest. All I see is her sitting at my table, eating from my china with her last words before I boarded the Tribute train ringing in my head. "She's a survivor." Nothing for the son who was leaving home for the first time with no assurance that he would ever return. No regret or apology. Nothing.

My hand knocks the tea pot off the table and into the wall leaving a damp brown stain on the wallpaper. The glass doesn't chime quite as prettily as the mirror but the effect is much more satisfying. The ladies scream and chairs hit the floor as they hastily push away from the table. My mother meets me glare for glare. I remember that look from my worst childhood memories but this time I don't back down. I push my face close to hers where I can see every wrinkle and every pore. Her outraged rant cuts off midstream as I point my finger in her face and calmly remark, "You've made yourself quite at home, haven't you mother? Funny, but I don't recall inviting you here. I'm going to ask you nicely just once to take your friends and leave my house."

Her back straightens and her eyes meet mine challengingly, "I don't have to be invited to my own son's house, Peeta. You've embarrassed both me and yourself enough. Don't worry about the mess. I'll take care of it. Go back upstairs before you tire yourself out. We'll finish our tea and head back to town shortly." Her practiced smile flickers to the two women huddled uncomfortably in the doorway. "Ladies, please be seated. I'll have more tea momentarily."

I couldn't believe my ears. She actually thought that she could tell me to go and I would mindlessly obey. I guess she didn't get the memo that nobody orders Victors around but President Snow. I let a parody of my old open smile crease my features and she recoils. I see the motion before her hand swings toward my face. I catch her wrist and stop the slap mere inches from its intended target. I twist her arm and force her away from the table, her face pressed into the wall. Putting my mouth close to her ear where there is no chance that she will misunderstand, I softly utter, "Never again. Do you understand me? You will never touch me again. You will never set foot in my house again. You won't look at me. You won't speak to me. I will come and go at the bakery as I please. I will give Katniss and Haymitch as much bread as I want to without charging them a dime. If you break any of these conditions, I will withhold the money that I know you are so fond of. Don't cross me, mother. You don't want to open up this can of worms. Leave while you're still ahead."

I release her arm and step away; my breath coming in fits and starts. She stares at me with hatred and contempt burning clearly in her eyes. "Don't worry, you stupid worthless creature. I won't ever darken your door again. You can shack up here with your little Seam slut and her whore of a mother for all I care. You're no son of mine, Peeta Mellark. You aren't worth wasting any more of my time on." My hand moves before my mind registers my intent. A red print blooms on her cheek and she backs away, finally wary of pushing me further. "Useless bastard," she grits out.

"Charming as usual, mother." I sarcastically return. "The only whore that I've seen around here is you. After all, you've been paid well for your tolerance of me. Mrs. Everdeen stays with Katniss because she wants to. You're only here because it increases your social standing to be associated with me. No wonder Dad prefers her. You can't even compare." She spits in my face and stalks out the door, the ladies trailing silently behind her. I wait until I hear the front door click before sliding to the floor with my head in my hands. I have never spoken to my mother or anyone like that. I feel one more piece of myself break. I had naively told Katniss on that roof a lifetime ago that I didn't want them to change me. I wanted to die as myself. Apparently, that was one more battle that I had already lost.

BARGAINING

My dad comes in and sits beside me. I'm still huddled in my dining room floor, hardly believing what has happened, much less my part in it. His eyes which are a more faded blue than my own meet mine hesitantly. I can't help but drop mine to my hands, guilt and shame burning in my gut. Who is this person that I've become? How can I ever look my father in the face knowing what I said? My hasty words were meant to cut in the worst possible way. But the fallout will go well beyond the one that said it and the one that heard it. They have to power to split what's left of my family, leaving me forever on the outside. Reaching down deep, I force myself to meet his look.

"Peeta," he says softly. "Are you okay?' His hand pats me on my shoulder and I feel myself breaking down. The tears fill me up and overflow. I drop my forehead to my bent knees. "Peeta?" he repeats, sorrow and sympathy swirling together. "Look at me, son. I can't help you if you won't talk to me." I shake my head and refuse to look at him further. He has the best of intentions but he can't help me. I don't want to hurt him by telling him that but he can't understand. He doesn't have the background. He continues to pat my shoulder and then rubs my head like he used to when I was a little boy.

"Peeta, would you do something for me?" He asked me almost hesitantly. I finally raise my head and look at him curiously. At my nod, he continues, "I don't know what you're going through. I can't say that I understand because I don't. But I'm here for you. Whatever you need from me, you don't have to ask because I'm there. You have people who love you, Peeta. Don't forget that."

I give him a tentative smile. "I won't forget, Dad. I know that you love me." I hear my voice cracking and stop to swallow the lump in my throat. "Some days are just harder than others, you know."

My father searches my face and I know what he's doing. He's looking for his little boy, the one who left on the train. I don't have the heart to tell him that boy died. He's dead, gone and buried in that Arena. He clears his throat and seems almost timid when he speaks again. "I think that you should talk to someone who has been where you are. Maybe that will help put things in perspective for you? Are you willing to try?" My brow furrows as I stare at my father. What is he getting at? I hear footsteps on the porch and crane my neck to see my unexpected visitor. My jaw drops when Haymitch sidles in.

"What's he doing here?" I choke the words out. I can't stop the trembling that invades my limbs at the sight of him. It's too much to take in. I can't handle those memories right not. I'm too raw and too battered to keep up the façade. I just want to fall apart and not worry about anyone trying to hold me together. I want to remember a boy that once loved a girl and hoped that she would someday love him in return.

"Boy, watching you lose your shit isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my day." Haymitch grumbled as he lowered himself into a conveniently placed chair. His flask is pulled from a side pocket and placed on the table within reach. His reddened eyes examine me closely and he obviously doesn't like what he sees. "You looked better coming out of the Arena than you do right now, kid. What the hell have you been doing with yourself?"

I can't stop the disbelieving snort that escapes me. Somehow, the old drunk actually manages to sound concerned. Unaware that my eyes are just as red and swollen as his, I meet his stare with one of my own. "What's it to you, old man? You made your choice a long time ago and it wasn't me. Don't bother being concerned now. I don't need or want your worry. Save it for the Girl on Fire. She needs it more than I do."

Haymitch's fingers tighten on his flask and his face betrays the fury that he's working to tamp down. I know that it was a low blow to remind him that he didn't pick me in the Arena. He chose Katniss. The fact that I basically insisted on this course of action has conveniently slipped my mind. Haymitch isn't one to let an insult go. His reply is designed to cut deep and bleed my dry. He knows my weaknesses and uses them like a master. "I helped to bring the girl you love home, boy. I did everything I could to keep her alive. Hell, I did everything I could to get both of you out. So did the girl." His gray eyes flare, hell and brimstone in their depths. "Do you think she wanted to play the Game that way? Are you so far gone that you've forgotten who you're dealing with? Snow put you here, boy. Remember that. I know you're hurt. I know that you feel like I betrayed you. I can live with that." He takes a long swallow from the flask and pins me with his gaze once more. "I can live with it because you're here. You made it home. Do you know how many times that I've seen kids get on that train and never come back? Do you care? I never took you for a whiner, boy. Not until now. So you got your heart broke. Happens every day. That little she devil ain't worth it. You know it and I know it. Hell, kid, even she knows it. "

My father's jaw drops as my mentor continues to tear into me. Somehow, I don't think this is quite the pep talk he had in mind when he invited Haymitch here. That thought actually strikes me as funny and before I realize it, laughter bubbles up. My father's eyes meet mine, his dumbfounded; mine filled with unwilling mirth. Haymitch paused, taking another sip from his flask and watches me carefully. He knows me better than I know myself. He knows that something has managed to reach me. His mouth curls up in a familiar sardonic smirk. "Well now, that's more like it. At least we know you haven't lost your sense of humor." I shoot him a warning glare which he disregards completely. I push myself up and grab the closest chair, easing myself carefully into the seat. "Peeta," he says quietly. "For what it's worth, I don't blame you for being mad. You've been through hell. For my part, I'm sorry for what happened. You deserved better than that. Now is not the time to fall apart, son. Winning the Games is just the start. It's half the battle. You need to get your head straight because if you don't, they will eat you alive."

I look at him curiously. I know that we can't talk freely here and not just because my father is listening to every word said. Haymitch has been in this for longer than I care to think about. He is often written off as a drunk and a burn out. That does this man a disservice. He is more than meets the eye, but the Capital crowd continually underestimates him. He watches me process this as he idly toys with his flask. I can hear the liquid swishing as he passes it hand to hand. For Haymitch to show this much of a reaction, I know that something more is going on. There's something that he can't say that I desperately need to hear. So I force a smile and turn to my father, donning old Peeta's face and say, "Sounds like you need a refill, Haymitch. Let me grab my shoes and I'll walk you out. Dad, why don't you head on back to the Bakery? I'm sure Mom is wondering where you are by now." My father happily acquiesces and bids us both good bye. I know that I'm not that good of an actor. My father is a good man, but he sees what he wants to see. He's satisfied that Haymitch will straighten me out so his duty is done. He can face my mother, armed with the knowledge that he's left me in good hands. It's a predictable, tired pattern that I've seen played out in a thousand ways. Some things really never do change.

After leaving my father at the road leading back to Town, Haymitch and I head toward the meadow. He watches me out of the corner of his eye as I stride silently beside him. Had it been Katniss taking this walk with him, she would have already exploded. The love of my life isn't known for her patience or subtlety. It's one of the things I love most about her. It's also one of the things that drive me crazy. He's gotten used to her tantrums and outbursts. My silence unnerves him. It's the only card I have to play. After an interminable moment, I hear him snort and take another shot from his flask. How he manages to function with so much liquor is beyond my understanding. Oddly enough, the more he drinks the more sober he seems. It is one of the many contradictions surrounding Haymitch Abernathy that I have yet to untangle. I decide to be the first to break the quiet. Clearing my throat I comment, "What am I missing, Haymitch? They're still watching us, aren't they?"

He shoots me a surprised glance and the flask is returned to his pocket. I know that this means he's serious about whatever he's trying to tell me. "Snow isn't stupid, boy. Far from it, in fact. It wouldn't' surprise me if he hasn't placed a few eyes and ears around to make sure all is as it should be. He's paranoid and ruthless. He has managed to stay in power for a long time. You don't do that without having a healthy sense of self-preservation." I nod to show I'm listening. His gaze returns to the path and he fidgets a moment before he continues. "He's going to be watching for the slightest chink. Any weakness will hand him a weapon that he can and will use against you. Don't make it easy for him, boy."

I bite my lip; the words swirl through me and lead me to an inevitable conclusion. It leads me to a place that resembles my own personal hell. It leads me to the star-crossed lovers. Suddenly, I know what he's telling me I will have to do. There will be no easy out, no distance, no time to deal with the pain. The Capital wants what it was promised and it is up to me to deliver it. I have to be in love with Katniss Everdeen. The knowledge slams into me like a punch to the gut and I feel myself folding because of it. "What if I can't do it? I can't turn it on and off, Haymitch. Even if I could, she doesn't love me. She made that abundantly clear." I pause and draw a deep breath. " I haven't seen her in months. She spends all of her time with her sister or in the woods with him. There's nothing left for me. Do you honestly think that Snow and the Capital will believe that we can't live without each other when I can't look her in the eye? Besides, everybody knows that they're together. She doesn't attempt to hide it and neither does he. Anything I do at this point is fruitless. It just makes me look like a fool."

Haymitch swings about and stabs a finger into my chest. I rub the spot, knowing that there will be a bruise there in the morning. "I'll talk to her. She may have the personality of a dead slug but she's not stupid. She knows what's at stake and she won't risk that, regardless of Hawthorne. Are you willing to take the chance that Snow will be forgiving? Are you willing to bet your life on it? He doesn't like being made to look foolish and that's exactly what the two of you did when you pulled out those berries. If he's not convinced that you two were so desperately in love that you couldn't bear to be parted, he will reach the only other logical conclusion. He will decide that you meant to defy the Capital after all. Once he thinks that, there will be no going back. You and the girl will lose everything. Is your hurt pride and bruised heart worth that much, Peeta?"

I close my eyes, feeling the urge to scream surge up. I bite my tongue and nod numbly. "I'll do what I have to do to convince him. Just tell me what to do." The effort of that declaration drains me and I feel empty. His apologetic gaze weighs on me like a millstone on my back. He turns and walks away, stopping only to pat my arm in a clumsy gesture. I think it was meant to be comforting. It manages to crack the few walls I have left. I sink to my knees in the grass, hot tears spilling silently down my face. One undeniable truth remains, shrieking in my head over and over. I love Katniss. I love Katniss. That becomes my mantra. That is the easy part because despite everything I do love Katniss. The hard part will come later. Eventually, I will have to convince Panem that Katniss loves me.

DEPRESSION

I finally make it back to my house and go upstairs to my studio. I need the release that painting gives me. It's the only thing that has kept me sane since coming home. I have nightmares and dreams where I watch her die or she's taken away and I'm powerless to prevent it. I don't' wake up screaming like she does. I wake up frozen, unable to move, while my brain furiously tries to process that I've let her go. The cold pillow does little to reassure me in the still depths of night. Sometimes, I sit for hours in my window watching her light to convince myself that my dream was in fact just that. When that doesn't work, I paint. It's not like I get a thrill out of reliving every moment in that Arena, I don't. But sometimes, it's all I have to hold on to.

My blank canvas taunts me. Usually, my hand moves before my mind even realizes what the scene is supposed to be. Sometimes it is a pleasant surprise when a pretty landscape or treasured memory blooms on the paper. Other times, I can't even look at it. The horrors and half realized fears that my mind makes up in the dark find their way onto the easel. I don't try to stop myself when this happens. I just let my brush go where it will and then put the finished product with the stack of others that I don't want to look at.

Today, the lines and curves won't come. His words and her face block every other thought from my head. I can't push them out and I can't let them in. I'm stuck in a half-life where everything gnaws and tears, like the Mutt that tore open my leg. The one thing that brings me peace now cuts like glass. I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye and swing around. The brush has become a weapon in my hand as I search for the enemy. The only thing that meets my gaze is my own eyes staring back at me from the mirror across the room. The sight startles me and gives me pause. Who is this person wearing my face? Where did he come from and more importantly where did I go?

I walk closer to the mirror, noting the changes since the last time I looked. Thinner face, hollow eyes, permanent worry lines creasing my forehead. Is this my face now? I used to smile. I remember that. Standing here now looking at familiar features wearing a stranger's face, it hits me. I didn't want to become a piece in their games. I wanted to keep myself if I lost every other thing including my life. I still wanted to be me when it happened. But that's not me in the mirror. I don't know who it is. My hand moves before I realize it and once more a musical tinkling fills the room. Blood flows in a thick winding stream from my cut palm and down over my fingers. I look at it curiously for a moment and then turn away from the twisted, broken frame. The empty canvas beckons and I surrender to it. I'm finally able to fill up that space. The peace of that freedom fills me and floods out all doubt and uncertainty.

Lifting my hand with the gore dripping off my fingers, I trace lines on the white. Soon my own face looks back at me, the face that I remember from before. Drawn in my own blood and by my own hand. Maybe I didn't lose myself after all.

Acceptance

I'm no healer but I manage to clean up my hand fairly well before setting out on my next task. The cuts weren't deep enough to require stitches. Thankfully, I'm able to clean them and make sure that no glass remains before applying tiny winged bandages to hold the ends together. The hand will be sore but I welcome that pain. It is the price that I pay for the strength to do what I must. I wrap my hand up and tie it securely before changing my shirt. This plan might not be my best but it feels right. It is up to me to make the first move. She will never open the door that she slammed firmly in my face on the train. She made her decision and now I have to make mine.

I take a few moments to push my hair into some semblance of order. I put on my shoes, making sure that the laces are double knotted. I fill up a bag with loaves of bread still warm from the oven and put a few cheese buns in for good measure. I know that they will be welcome even if I'm not. Taking a deep breath and one last glance at my latest creation, I pick up my stuff and head for the door. This first step will be the hardest but it is necessary. I can't let things go on the way they have these last few months. Too much is riding on what happens next.

With that thought in mind, I cross the street and climb her stairs. My hand trembles as I knock firmly. The door opens and my heart trips against my ribs for a moment before I register a soft pair of blue eyes gazing up at me. I stifle the little flair of disappointment and plaster a smile on my face. "Hi, Prim," I say as cheerily as I can. "I brought you something." She smiles and swings the door wider, welcoming me in. I step inside and the door slams closed behind me.

End Part 1

A/N This is part 1 of 3…if you're looking for fluff…you won't find it here. Each chapter will deal with Peeta's POV in the time between getting off the train after winning the Games and volunteering to go back in the Arena for the Quarter Quell. It's not a happy time but it is an interesting one. Read and review if it pleases you. Until next time, Salanderjade.


	2. Part 2: Brimstone

Alone is a Five Letter Word For Pain

A/N This chapter is set the morning after Gale's whipping. **Way to go, Prim! (You'll see why)

Part 2: Brimstone

It was a difficult night filled with the whistle and slapping noise of a whip making contact. Every time I close my eyes, I see blood fly and flesh shred. I hear her screaming as she sees what's left of her friend's back. I see her take the lash willingly as she attempts to protect him. It becomes obvious then that I've lost her. Whatever progress that we made during the Victory Tour is gone. The promises I made and the love I offered while on my knees before the Capital mean nothing. It was in front of a camera, planned beforehand to stifle the spark of rebellion, and suggested by her in a last ditch effort to turn the tide. That didn't change the fact that when I said those words and made those promises, I meant them. To the bottom of my heart, I meant them. Here and now in the weak morning light, the remnants of those dreams are like ashes, bitter and acrid. They burn and scourge me as I look at their joined hands, clasped tightly in sleep and know that no action of mine can break that grip.

I feel my eyes close as I head off reflexive tears that swell up to fill the void. I can't do this anymore. I can't leave myself open to this pain again and again. I can't lie to myself that she will ever return what I've so freely given. We share a bond, forged into being by the fires of the Games and tempered during the ensuing unrest of the Tour. President Snow made demands that we had made every effort to fulfill. It was shaky at best if we had accomplished our goal. During that time, walls were breached and trust reformed. I wanted to believe her when she told me that we would be open with each other, no secrets and no lies. I agreed to go because she asked me to. Leaving everything I know to live in the wilds isn't something that I'm thrilled about. I know nothing of the woods. I knew that my family would be staying in District Twelve regardless of my decision. I knew that my actions would have repercussions for them. I cared about what they would go through for me, but my main concern is and has always been Katniss. I had thrown my lot in with hers and didn't think twice about it. That decision wasn't questioned until the moment that she jumped between Gale Hawthorne and that whip. In that instant, everything that I knew to be true collapsed into chaos.

I stand on her porch, drawing in deep breaths of the cold morning air as I attempt to regain control. The bread that I had baked last night in an attempt to force those images from my mind gets crushed in my fists as I fight conflicting emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. I love her. That fact remains. It's as much a part of me as blonde hair and blue eyes. It's all I know. I want her to be happy, even if it's not with me. That realization both heartens me and causes me pain. I will willingly put her wellbeing above my own yet again. I will break myself into pieces on the slightest chance that she will be kept whole. But I am only human. There is only so much that I can willingly do before I'm changed irrevocably and shattered beyond all repair.

I hear the door open softly behind me and quickly school my expression to stillness. The footsteps are light and quick as they cross the porch. I feel a small strong hand grasp my arm and look down into a pair of cornflower blue eyes. She gives me an uncertain smile which I return warmly with one of my own. Primrose is a sweet, innocent girl who has faced many obstacles in her short thirteen years. She'd lost her father, had to nurse her mother through depression, and then watch her beloved older sister fight to the death in an Arena. She has welcomed me with unquestioning acceptance. Her gentle personality and bright smile are known throughout the district. She is loved by any and all who meet her, including me.

"Peeta," she asked quietly. "Why are you out here? Is everything alright?"

I swallow the bitter tide that surges up in an attempt to block my throat and put my renowned golden tongue to work. "Everything is fine, Prim. I came earlier than I thought. I didn't want to disturb anyone so I decided to stay out here and enjoy the morning." The look that she gives me can charitably be called disbelieving. Undeterred, I attempt to divert her attention, "What are you doing out here so early? Couldn't you sleep?"

Prim gives me a searching glance but decides to follow my lead. She maneuvers me to the swing that hangs in the curvature of the porch. Her eyes are concerned as she looks at me and I can see that my attempts to hide my unease have failed. She drops her all seeing gaze to the crushed bread resting in my lap and a sigh escapes her. "You saw them," She states unequivocally. She gives me a pitying look that I don't want to see. I drop my gaze to the bread and unsuccessfully try to repair the damage from earlier. "Peeta, you can talk to me you know...about whatever is bothering you. It would be just between us if that's how you want it."

I shoot her a startled glance and catch myself before my jaw drops. This is Katniss' little sister. I can't expect her be my sounding board about my issues with Katniss and Gale. It wouldn't be right. I need someone to talk to, but unfortunately that can't be Prim. She watches the play of emotions on my face and follows them with unerring accuracy. "You think that it would put me in an awkward spot with Katniss. You think that it would be too difficult for me to give an unbiased opinion. Peeta, that's just stupid. Katniss knows that I love her. She also knows that I don't always agree with her. You're my friend too. If she has a problem with that, then it's her problem to deal with. So, what's wrong?"

I cannot keep the grin off my face. Prim is just as stubborn and focused as her sister. It's a completely different type of strength than that displayed by Katniss. This is something completely unique to Prim. She reaches out and removes the bread from my hands then covers them with her own. "Prim, I don't even know where to start. Thank you for the offer. It means a lot. I should go. Tell your mother that I will bring her supplies over later." I wiggle my fingers free and attempt to leave the swing but her hold tightens, keeping me firmly in place.

"You still love her, don't you? You love her and you think that you've lost her because what happened yesterday." Her insight stops me cold and I feel the yawning chasm open up in my chest again. I turn back to face her, carefully making sure that my expression doesn't betray me but she sees through it in a second. "Peeta, I can tell that you're hurting. It's obvious. What I don't understand is why? You asked her to marry you and she accepted. Isn't that enough?"

The bittersweet smile that crosses my face actually hurts. The engagement lies at the heart of it. At any other time, that answer would have been enough. I could have lived my whole life happy with the knowledge that she agreed to be mine. But she didn't agree, she was coerced and that makes all the difference. She didn't choose me. She chose Gale. It's more than clear from the way she reacted when she saw that he was hurt. It's even more apparent seeing them together this morning. "I don't think that it is, Prim. It should be but it's not. She's made her choice and I have to live with it." Her look of confusion is priceless. She sees much more clearly than a thirteen year old should, but she's still just a kid. The slippery slope that Katniss and I have been sliding on since the Games has no meaning for this girl. I find that I am content with this knowledge. At least some things haven't changed. Here at last is something that I can count on. "I'm glad for her," I say bravely. "I'm sorry that this is what it took to help her see what she really wanted. At least now they both know."

Prim shakes her head. "What exactly do they know, Peeta? She's engaged to you. She will marry you. How does Gale getting whipped change any of that?"

I bite my lip at her obtuse behavior. She is definitely demonstrating that she is related to Katniss today. Being deliberately dense must be an Everdeen family trait. "It changes everything, Prim. She loves him and he loves her. Do you think that I would keep them apart even if I could? I won't stand in her way. Capital or not, if Gale is what she needs to be happy then that is exactly what she'll get."

Prim rolls her eyes. Clearly, my altruistic gesture hasn't made a favorable impression. Her normally placid eyes look more and more like her sisters the longer she looks at me. I can't help but fidget under that unflinching stare. I feel like she is reading every thought and emotion that I have. It's terrifying. "You really are an idiot, Peeta. You know that." She blurts out. "She does love Gale. They've been best friends for years. There's a bond there that nothing can break. She will never fully walk away from him." She eyes me carefully, "But you're missing a big part of the picture. She loves you too. What you have with her is just as important as what she has with Gale. It's just different. I thought you knew that."

I can't keep the confusion from registering on my face. What am I missing? Katniss told me herself that her feelings for me were due in large part to keeping us both alive during the Games. Once we were safe and at home, she had no difficulty walking away from me and straight to Gale. I rub the back of my neck, mindlessly scrubbing my hand through my hair. I say the only thing that comes to mind. The only thing that makes sense. "They have so much history between them, Prim. I can't compete with that."

Prim grins as if I've said something brilliant. My confusion grows as she continues to look at me with that wide smile on her face, looking like she understands at last what's going on. If she does, then I wish she would explain it to me. I don't have a damned clue. "So they have a history. Well, so do you. You and Katniss have something that most people can't understand. It's just as important as what she and Gale share. Why should you have to compete? Peeta, there is no competition."

Those words bring back an unbidden memory of a cold, wet cave and another voice saying that same phrase to me. The effect is the same now as it was then. A warm feeling permeates through me at the slightest implication of her being mine. It fills me up to bursting and for a moment, I allow myself to believe it. That moment was shattered by her confession on the train ride home. This one is when I recall their clasped hands. Prim is right. There is no competition. Gale won her heart a long time ago. I'm just now beginning to accept it. Prim once again follows my train of thought with frightening acumen. "Peeta, don't you realize how different she is with you? You bring out a side of her that most of us don't get to see, not even Mom and me. I know you say that you love her, but do you know her at all? Really?"

My brow furrows and I sit back down in spite of my earlier vow to keep this visit short and simple. I sense that Prim has a point that she is determined to make. For the life of me, I can't ignore it. Bearing that in mind, I look at her expectantly. "What am I missing? What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not doing anything wrong, silly. You're just overlooking some very important facts. I thought you were smarter than that, Peeta. Honestly, you're picking up Katniss' worst habits." She grins at my huffed out laugh and then continues. "She promised me that she would win and come home. That was the last thing she said to me before going to the Capital." I nod impatiently. This is not new information. Katniss said as much in her interview prior to the Games. I don't understand what that has to do with here and now. Prim laughs at my blatant confusion.

"Neither you nor Katniss realizes that she broke that promise." I hastily shake my head, denials coming readily forth but she cuts me off. "She broke it the minute she began searching you out in the Arena. She didn't need you to get her home, Peeta. She could have done that herself. She didn't go looking for you because she thought she would be despised in the District if she didn't make the attempt. I'm sure that was part of it but not the entire reason. Since when does Katniss care about what others think about her? She doesn't. Besides, nobody could blame her if you had not made it out of there. You were badly injured and severely ill. It's a miracle that you're here now. A large part of that is because of my sister. She sacrificed a great deal to find you and nurse you back to health. She could have hid out in a tree and waited until everyone else was dead. She didn't do that. She went looking for you. She put herself into greater danger to make sure that you were taken care of. She walked willingly into a fight on the barest chance that it would help you survive. She even drugged you so that she could go. How can you sit here and tell me that she doesn't love you. Peeta, she loves you more than anyone. I just think that she hasn't realized it yet. You need to give her time. She'll come around."

I find it difficult to argue with her logic. Everything that she's saying to me is the truth. Somehow, coming from Prim gives it more weight. It makes me want to believe that there is a chance. It makes me want to hope again. That stops me cold. Katniss did do all of those things and more when we were in the Arena. My mind flickers back to the scene played during the final interview. She was beating furiously on the glass, screaming my name as the doctors worked to save my life. She had to be sedated before they could treat her injuries. She fought to stay with me right up to the moment that they slid a needle into her arm. But once we got back home, everything changed. Actually, nothing had changed. That fact broke my heart then much as it does now looking into Prim's expectant blue gaze.

"She walked away from me. I didn't leave her. We barely spoke to each other in between the Games and the Victory Tour. She picked up right back where she left off. There's no place for me here, Prim. There was in the Arena but not now." I can't help but point these things out, hoping that she will find a way to prove me wrong. I know it's stupid but I want her to say something that will enable me to keep the slightest flicker alive. She doesn't disappoint.

"She did go back to her familiar routines but so did you. How many times have you stopped by to see her? How many calls have you made? How many times did you go out of your way to say hello? You are just as guilty of falling back into old habits as my sister. The only difference is that you're doing it deliberately to get some distance between her and your wounded pride. She's doing it because she is oblivious." Prim unleashes this salvo almost hesitantly but her eyes don't waiver. She is determined to be heard and she has me right where she wants me. "I love my sister. She's always been there for me no matter what. I'd like to return the favor someday if she'll let me. Don't give up on her, Peeta. She'll come around."

I want desperately to believe what she's saying. I want to grab hold of the possibility and savor it. The memory of their intertwined fingers stops me. The picture of her head resting beside his on the snow white tablecloth, one eye black and swollen from the blow she took for him stops me. That brief flicker that everything could be as I wanted sputters and dies. Cold reality settles back in and I nod as I come to the only decision that makes sense. "It's a nice thought, Prim. Thank you for trying to help me. I think your sister has made up her mind and we have to respect that." I retrieve the bread and climb to my feet. I manage only a few steps before her quiet voice halts me once more.

"So that's it then. You're just going to give up on her. You're not even going to fight." Prim's voice is low, so quiet that I can barely hear it. Her bewildered eyes meet mine and I wordlessly shake my head. Her jaw firms and her eyes harden at my gesture. "Then you don't deserve her. You're making a mistake, Peeta. You'll regret it if you don't change your mind. Don't let hurt pride hold you back. You've got so much to gain and you're throwing it all away."

I can't think of anything else to say except, "I'm sorry." She gives me a funny little half smile and makes her way to the backyard where her goat Lady is tethered. I watch her until she disappears around the house then make my way back to the front door. I take a deep breath and rein in my galloping nerves. They are still asleep, hands tightly linked. I watch them for another moment, my expression unintentionally sad and withdrawn. My hand finds her shoulder and I shake it gently. When her eyes find mine, I say gently, "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now." She mumbles something about running and yesterday. I cut her off, "I know. There's nothing to explain." She stares at me like it's the first time she has seen my face in years. I see her note the blue shadows that no doubt ring my eyes. I hardly got any sleep last night and it's more than obvious. I hear her say my name quietly and head her off once more. "Just go to bed, okay?" She nods wearily and moves toward the stairs. I watch her until she's out of sight and then sink down into her abandoned chair.

My eyes find his face. The medicine clearly still has him in its grasp. I stare at him unblinkingly for many moments, thoughts circling incessantly in my head. There is no love lost between him and myself but I will do what is right no matter how much it hurts. I told her I would look after him. I will keep that promise no matter what it costs me. I settle back in the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing...and I wait.

End Part 2

A/N This part wasn't as dark as Part 1 thankfully. It still demonstrates how lost and alone our Peeta feels at this point in the story. Some lines were taken from chapter 9, page 120 of Catching Fire...all credit for those lines go to Suzanne Collins. She owns the Hunger Games and all associated with it. I'm just playing in the sandbox. Read and review if it pleases you. Until next time, Salanderjade.


	3. Ashes

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

A/N Setting is Catching Fire, page 73 & 74. All credit for excerpts goes to Suzanne Collins.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does.

Part 3: Ashes

_Page 73: Back in our old quarters at the Training Center, I'm the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. "I thought he wanted it, anyway," I say. "Not like this," Haymitch says. "He wanted it to be real." _

The door closes behind me and I sink to the floor, my head in my hands. The words came so freely from her. The girl who swore that she wasn't good at saying something ended up being the one to have the last word. Irony is so thick that I want to choke on it. She doesn't realize the effect that she has even after all this time. Falling into the snow, climbing into bed, holding her hand; each of these should be a treasured memory stored away to be looked back on fondly. Instead, they are one more cut that slowly bleeds me dry.

I saw Haymitch wince when she blurted the idea out. By then, it was a foregone conclusion that we had failed to convince the districts that what happened in the Arena was for love alone. They saw revolution in a handful of berries held up by two desperate kids who just wanted to live. It was coming regardless of what we said or did. The lid had been kept on too long and the boiling point had finally been reached. I couldn't understand exactly what it was about our actions that tilted the balance until the moment those words left her lips. Now, I grasp the importance of the moment. There was no plan, no prior knowledge, and no hint of what was to come. It struck like lightning and in that bright merciless glow, everything else got lost. Haymitch saw me break. He knew what this act would cost me. She was, of course, completely oblivious.

I go to the closet and remove a small box that I brought with me from home. I have taken to keeping it with me always. I flip it open and look at the contents with an uncomfortable burning in my eyes and a lump in my throat. My father, who had both been there for me and abandoned me to hell, had given it to me before I left. He knew that Katniss and I had rarely spoken in the six months since I came home. The day he found me on the floor and brought Haymitch to talk me down was the closest that he had come to seeing the state I lived in. It could be said that he was deliberately blind. It was a talent that he had perfected over sixteen years. Every time that there was a new bruise or mark, he would appear with kind words, a sympathetic ear, and a gentle touch. I couldn't help but wonder where these things were while she was taking me apart. He never intervened or prevented but he comforted after the fact. My life, it seems, has always been founded on paradox.

The ring inside was simple as most things in District Twelve tend to be. It was a plain white gold band with three stones in the setting. The middle stone was as black as coal dust and flanked by two clear, pear-shaped gems. My father had been oddly reticent when he had handed over the box. He had watched in silence when I opened it and examined the ring. "That was your grandmother's," He volunteered before I could ask the question. "It's been in the family for years. I kept it put away and wondered if I would get the chance to pass it on. This seemed like as good a time as any." I bit my lip as my fist tightened around the box. I gave him a brief acknowledging nod. "I know that I've not always been the best father to you, Peeta. I could have done so much more. I loved you but sometimes that isn't enough. I thought once that I would give this ring to the woman I loved but I never got the chance. I put it away and hoped that one day my sons would continue the tradition. When we knew for sure that you were coming home, I got this back out and promised myself that I would give it to you at first opportunity." He smiled slightly at my bewildered expression and closed my fingers around the box. "I don't understand what has been going on. You don't have to tell me unless you want to. I don't even know if you'll have the chance to use this but I want you to have it. You have loved her since you were five, Peeta. Don't give up just yet."

Those words echo in my head as I look down at my father's parting gift. Sometimes, love isn't enough. It's strange that of all the things my father told me, those words are the ones that I remember. I pull the ring from its box and hold it in my closed fist, the metal cool against my palm. It symbolizes so much for such a tiny thing. The fact that he never gave it to my mother doesn't surprise me. I've known since I was five years old that my father loved another more than he did the woman he married. I was too young to understand the longing and loss in his voice as he told me about losing a girl to a coal miner who made the birds go quiet when he sang. I didn't grasp the scars that my father carried as I listened to him in the schoolyard. I recognize that ache now better than I ever wanted to.

I hear a muffled knock and hastily tuck the ring back into the case. Slipping it unobtrusively into my pocket, I quickly open the door. Haymitch stands in the hallway shifting uneasily from foot to foot. His gray eyes dart up to meet mine. He clears his throat and fumbles out, "Anything you want to talk about, boy? I'm not much of a listener but I can try." His hand removes the flask from his front pocket and he takes a hurried sip. A rapid intake of breath marks the burning of the white liquor's passage and he dry swallows a couple of times to relieve the searing in his throat. I shake my head but stand aside to allow him entrance. He shuffles in and flops down in the only chair available, his eyes examining me closely. "It's a good idea, kid. It just might work. After everything that's happened, the girl's desperate."

I can't stop the annoyance that crosses my features as he defends her. He, of all people, should know how difficult these events will be for me. He knows that it was never a show on my part. I meant everything. I didn't have to pretend on the Tour. Despite the fact that we've been less than civil at home, it was all too easy to slip back into my part as a boy besotted. It wasn't a role for me. I am and always will be in love with the Girl on Fire. "I've already said that I'll do it, Haymitch. You don't need to give me a pep talk. I'll make sure that we're convincing."

He gives me a scathing look that I've become quite familiar with. Usually, it's turned on Katniss but I have earned my fair share over the last few months. I can't stop the grin that flashes briefly as he snorts and takes yet another long pull from his flask. "I'm not worried. You always handle yourself well. I don't expect this time will be any different. But I know this isn't how you wanted it to be. Can you handle that?"

I smile ruefully and nod my head. "I will admit that it isn't exactly what I had in mind but I can make it work, Haymitch. Don't worry." I meet his gaze squarely and put everything I have into making my expression persuasive. The old man lets out a disgruntled sigh and climbs to his feet. I forego my Capital mask and give him a legitimate smile. "I will give them a good show, Haymitch. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

He lets out a deep breath, finally mollified and heads toward the door. Pausing, he turns back. "Be ready to go in a couple of hours. We wouldn't want the Princess to get her corset in a twist." I grin and wave my hand toward the door. He gives me a sour look and then heads back to his quarters. I pull the ring out of my pocket and look at it in a considering fashion. Do I want to give it to her like this? Do I want to reduce it to a ploy in this charade for the Capital's delectation? I hear Portia's knock at the door and hurriedly shove the ring back out of sight. I don't know what I will do at this moment but the fact remains that one of the biggest questions of my life will be answered tonight.

_Page 74: When he asks us about the future, Peeta gets down on one knee, pours out his heart and begs me to marry him. I, of course, accept. _

The closer it gets to show time, the tighter the knot in my stomach becomes. I don't know how I will make it through tonight without breaking down. They expect the star-crossed pair, giddy in love and thrilled to be back in the place where it all began. They want a show and we're the performers expected to provide it. Never mind that my heart is both pounding and breaking at the same time. How is that even possible? Portia watched me carefully as I got ready for the big moment. The suit that she provided was immaculate as always. It fit me perfectly and I gave her a tiny smile as she leads me to the stage. "Good luck," she whispered and patted my arm. I nod and squeeze her hand before letting go. "Peeta," she said quietly. I turn back and meet her gaze expectantly. She smiles and whispers, "Remember, it's about you and Katniss. Talk to her. Speak from your heart. That's all any woman can ask for." I silently mouth, "Thank you" as the stage hands lead me to the tube which will raise me to the stage. She nods and then walks away. I feel the lift start to rise and blow out a deep breath to calm my clamoring nerves.

The stage looks exactly the same. Caesar Flickerman still has his powder blue façade from the Games. His midnight blue twinkling suit is immaculate as always. He stands at ready attention and smiles broadly as we are lifted into view. He announces us quite unnecessarily as the Capital denizens are already screaming our names. I lift my hand and wave lazily to the horde and see Katniss do the same from the corner of my eye. We meet at the loveseat and greet Caesar cordially. I look at her for the first time and feel my heart leap into my throat. Cinna has outdone himself. The dove gray dress falls in soft waves to her feet. It picks up the silver tones in her eyes and magnifies them until they shine like mirrors. The underskirt and detailing about the asymmetrical neckline is a soft glowing sunset orange. Her hair is in its customary braid but adorned with opal tipped pins which catch and reflect the light. She shines like the sun and I am lost. How can I keep my heart out of this when the very sight of her makes me want to fall to my knees and proclaim my undying devotion? How can I play the game when I would give anything for it to be real?

I rein myself in yet again and sit next to her on the loveseat that has been ours since winning the Games. She doesn't curl her feet up and lean into me this time. However, her hand does find mine and I feel myself steady as our fingers mesh. Caesar smiles at us indulgently and asked inane questions about our lives since we last spoke. My paintings and her clothing line take up most of the segment. Caesar spends an inordinate amount of time studying each offering and asking leading questions about inspiration and influences. Katniss, of course, has an easier time because she credits both Cinna and Portia with helping her to find her way. My answers are a little more reserved because of the paintings they have chosen to display. It is difficult to discuss color choice and technique when looking at the mutt that tore a hole out of my leg or Cato cleaning a bloody knife after stabbing the girl from District Eight. They chose the most horrific paintings to highlight; the ones recognizable from the Arena. They glorify the objects of my most hated and despised nightmares. Caesar announces that some of my paintings will be up for sale and the crowd explodes. My hands begin to tremble and it is a struggle to maintain the easy grin on my face as I thank them for their kindness. I feel a reassuring pressure on my fingers and look down to see that her hands have clasped mine tightly. Her thumb moves gently on the back of my hand and a soft smile touches her mouth when I look up to meet her gaze.

Caesar congratulates us both for the success of the Tour and asks slyly what our plans are for the future. I realize that this is my cue and give her hand one brief squeeze before turning to the expectant crowd. "I'm glad that you asked that, Caesar," I remark breezily. "I wanted to ask this beautiful lady an important question for quite some time but have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to do it. Do you think our friends would mind if I take a moment?" Caesar beams and then gestures for me to continue. The crowd heaves a collective gasp as I turn to Katniss, taking her hands in mine and moving downward until I'm resting on one knee. She looks startled and her wide-eyed gaze takes me to another time and place when I made a similar declaration. I am briefly frozen as two voices ring in my head. I hear my father once again proclaim, "You've loved her since you were five, Peeta." Overlapping that, I hear Portia, "Speak from your heart. That's all any woman can ask for." The planned remarks that I had scribbled down beforehand are suddenly forgotten. The hushed crowd, the cameras, and Caesar watching avidly abruptly fade away. The only thing I see is the girl in front of me that I've loved all my life. I know then exactly what I want to say. The words spill out and I let them, not holding anything back or hiding any part of myself from her searching regard.

I begin softly, uncaring that the microphones are straining to pick up every word. She can hear me perfectly and that's all that matters. "I've loved you all my life. Ever since I heard you sing my heart has been yours to do with what you will. I've thought of a hundred ways to ask you to be mine. But none ever seemed good enough. When I was seven, I wrote you a note that asked you to check yes or no if you liked me. I never gave it to you but the intent was there." She smiles slightly and I feel my lips quirk in response. "When I was eleven, I baked you a cake and put the words in frosting. Since you rarely came by the bakery, that idea didn't work out so well either. When I was sixteen, I stood on this stage and told everyone that I loved you. I admit that I should have told you first, but it seemed like a good idea at the time." The audience's chuckles pull her eyes away from me and I see her flick an uneasy glance around the auditorium. She's uncomfortable with the crowd hearing such personal statements. I can't help but shake my head at her obtuseness. This was her idea. She was going to have to live with it.

"I don't have the words to tell you what I feel. The only thing I can do is ask you to let me be with you. Let me love you like I've always wanted to. You won't regret it, Katniss. I promise you that." I swallow heavily and clasp her hands more tightly. "I read a verse once that said exactly what I've always wanted to say to you. I don't remember it faithfully but I do remember enough. Don't ask me to leave you or to turn back from following you. Wherever you go, I will be with you. Wherever you live, that will be home. If you'll have me, I'll be with you always. Nothing will keep me from you. That is my promise." I stop with my heart in my throat. Her eyes are wet as she stares in open mouthed awe at my words. I smile and pull the box from my pocket. Flipping back the lid, I carefully remove the ring and hold it a breath away from her hand. "Katniss, I love you. Please say you'll marry me." She bites her lip and nods furiously. I'm startled to see a tear edge down her cheek as I slide the ring into place. The crowd erupts when I pull her close and bury my face in her hair. She shivers against me and sighs against my mouth as I lean in to kiss her for the first time. It's a brief touch of skin and heat before we are pulled forward into the tumult that awaits us.

President Snow comes out and congratulates us. The offer and announcement of a Capital wedding is not unexpected. Snow will use this event to set his hooks as deeply into us as possible. We've given him a tool and he is hell bent on using it. I can see this knowledge plainly written on Katniss' face as she smiles and trades quips regarding a new law that will allow us to marry without her mother's approval. A party soon follows at Snow's mansion where we eat; we dance, and socialize with the Capital elite. The whole time I can feel her eyes on me and I watch as she fidgets with the ring on her finger. We seldom go a few feet without someone requesting to see it and question where it came from. I'm amused at the thought of a baker's ring from District Twelve being the next rage in the Capital. It's too ridiculous to believe. I'm sure that my father would appreciate the humor.

Finally, we make our way back to the train and head home. I'm sitting in my room when she finds me. The day has left me tired and I hesitate before opening the door to let her come in. She steps in guardedly and looks around as if she'd never been in my room before. I notice the ring is still on her finger although she is twisting it nonstop. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and wait silently for her to speak. She doesn't keep me in suspense for long. She holds her hand out and stabs a finger almost accusingly at my chest. "You weren't supposed to get me a ring. When did you have time to get this?"

I smile at her condemning tone and lean back on my hands, "I didn't get you a ring, Katniss. I've had that since we left home. I've just been waiting for the right moment to give it to you." She freezes as the implications roll through her mind. The fact that I've had it my possession since District Twelve is something that she didn't expect. She clearly doesn't know how to respond. I take advantage of her silence and remark, "It was my grandmother's ring. My father gave it to me right before we left. He had been holding onto it for a long time. He thought this trip would be the perfect time for me to give it to you. It was a lucky coincidence."

Her shocked gaze bores into me and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a smile from blooming at her beleaguered expression. She expected none of this. Anticipating anger, it is my turn to be surprised when she tugs the ring off and holds it out. "I can't accept this. It's from your family. I can't. It wouldn't be right."

I carefully fold her fingers back around the band, enclosing the ring in our clasped fists. "I won't take it back. It was meant to go to the person that I love, Katniss. Like it or not, that person is you. If you don't want it, then throw it away. You can trade it; put it in a drawer, or wear it. It doesn't matter. What you can't do is return it." I smile as I play with the end of her long braid. "It's yours now, sweetheart. What you do with it is up to you."

Her mouth works for a few seconds but no sound escapes. I leave her standing, jaw agape as she watches me disappear into the bathroom. I slide down and finally let the tears flow. They burn in stinging trails as I remember every detail from tonight. Her eyes, her dress, her smile when I spoke those words I had been longing to say. Finally, there are no more secrets between us. She knows exactly how I feel. I have a strange sense of freedom in knowing that I've now said everything I ever wanted to say to Katniss Everdeen.

I make my way back into the now deserted bedroom and look at the dresser, half expecting the ring to be lying there abandoned. To my surprise, there's nothing. I change into my usual sleep attire and hesitate before making my way down the hallway to her room. It slides open at my touch and I can barely make out her form in the darkness. She's already asleep, her breathing slow and quiet. I sit watching her as the minutes melt one into the other. Finally, I pull back the covers and curve myself around her, intertwined and tangled together. My hand finds hers, fingers interweaving; the band of her ring pressed cool and hard against my skin. I smile into the darkness, feeling content for the first time in ages. Tomorrow, we will back in District Twelve and I'll have to mend my walls. But tonight, I will hold her and let myself believe it can be like this always. Tonight, it's real.

End Part 3…..

A/N Chronologically this one falls before part 2. This one has a happier ending for our Peeta and I did want to end on a high note. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, alerted, and favorite this story. Special thanks go to Uffirefly for the plot bunny. I hope that it didn't disappoint. Thank you lovely people for your time, attention and support.

Until next time, Salanderjade


	4. To Paint a Rainbow

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

A/N Events of this chapter happen after page 378 of Catching Fire. Credit for all content goes to Suzanne Collins. She owns the Hunger Games. I just play in the sand box. Special thanks to Miss Mustang for all her support and comments. You are awesome!

Part 4: To Paint A Rainbow

_**(pg 312) I haven't figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them." Peeta Mellark, Catching Fire**_

I'm surrounded by white: the floor, the ceiling, the sheets, the walls. It closes in with a blank all seeing stare and I'm helpless before it. I don't know how I got here. I don't even know where here is. I just know that this wasn't supposed to happen. I'm stuck at the terminus between sanity and madness and there's no way of knowing which way I'll fall. In this colorless world, I have found the means to realize my most elusive goal. No, I didn't find the keys to Katniss Everdeen's heart. That is a peak that I don't think will ever be conquered. Some mountains are just too high. No, this goal is far more untenable, more elusive. And yet, here I've found the way. I have finally understood the underlying truths behind a rainbow. It isn't something to be drawn out as an unbroken whole, but piece by piece. First one and then the other, building and blending until the final end stands recognized and appreciated.

RED  
I first discovered red. This one was the easiest and cost me the least. Question after question fired at me with pinpoint precision. Every "I don't know" and "I can't help you" resulted first with insults and then with blows. If I could laugh, it would almost be worth it just to see the look on their faces, on his most of all. They seek to break me by heaping abuse on my flesh and bones. They don't realize that I've been schooled by a master long before I ever heard of the Hunger Games. My mother never spared the rod to spoil the child. Her punishments were swift and sure, never delivered with a delicate hand. I clinch my teeth, holding in the grunts and the screams that they work so hard to bring forth. I won't give them their victory so lightly. They will have to take it either by fist or boot. It doesn't matter. I've seen and done it all before. Even as my body jerks and convulses, my mind stays my own. I see the scarlet spray and feel the warm lines trace their paths on my bruised and battered flesh. The drops spattering gently on the snowy tiles catch and hold my thoughts. The smears, the beads, the drips. Ruby against pale pallid white. They are the pieces of me that he ordered chipped away one by one. I'm no longer what I was and yet not quite what he wants me to be. The crimson dewdrops open the door to my revelation. They show me red.

ORANGE

The next breakthrough came quite by accident. They showed me a tape of her leaving the Arena on a hovercraft which the interviewer is quick to assure me was controlled by the Rebels. They thought she was the more valuable. They left me behind. I know that they want anger, doubt, and frustration. Any chink in the armor to give them another tool to use against me. They want me to hate, to betray. Instead of handing them the keys to break me, they give me the one thing that I can use to keep myself whole. It is then that I discover orange. My favorite color has always been orange like a sunset. A soft and watery color; tinged with pink and easily overshadowed by more vibrant hues. Since that day on the roof with the wind playing in the chimes and her head in my lap, the color has been inextricably linked with her in my mind. It is unthinkable then to falter. She, who has had to endure so much, and yet has somehow managed to never fall nor give in to weakness. If I ever hope to take my place beside her, how can I not be just as strong? Where they see cooperation, I see survival. When they scream treachery, I hear her heartbeat pounding with mine as the waves rock the shoreline and the sun paints orange arcs across the sky. Where they claim that she left me, I see her working with any and all resources to bring me home. They show me their footage, expecting tears and recriminations. Instead, they give me hope. They give me strength. They give me love. They give me orange.

YELLOW

Yellow. Dandelion in spring. Rebirth. Renew. A new beginning. A chance to start over. A chance to get it right. In my rainbow, the shade takes an unexpected turn. Quitter. Weakling. Loser. Coward. They finally found a way to get to me. It wasn't videos or beatings. It didn't come about because I wanted the Capital to stand. It happened because I can't stand to watch others suffer because of me. I can't take their pain. I can't bear their screams. Johanna is all spitting defiance and haughty Victor pride. She has nothing to fear and nothing left to lose. Nothing except herself and her mind. Much like me, she's hanging on with a tenacity and stubborn will that had gotten her past every other test thrown at her. Until they make her watch as they beat me. Her brown eyes never leave my blue. I see her flinch every time another blow lands. I shake my head, silently begging her not to give them what they want. She bites her lip until blood flows. It matches the half-moon tears that her fingers dig into her palms. It is when our positions are reversed that I realize how difficult it is to do what I've asked of Johanna.

They strip her bare and soak her down. The water splashes over the tiles and run in ever widening streams to the grate. The electrodes that they clip in varying positions give a hint what's coming. I stand at the bars and hold her gaze, biting my lip as the hum fills the silence. Burning hair, roasting flesh, muffled screams and wide pain filled brown eyes. My hand reaches out voluntarily and I echo every groan that escapes her lips. Through it all she never drops her eyes. They pin me like a moth to a board. She doesn't falter. She doesn't break. But I do. The "stop" leaves my mouth before I realize it. She curses me even as they undo her straps. "Damn it, Peeta! Don't let them win!" She snarls as they toss her dripping and stinging back into her cell. I feel shame burn in my belly. I gave them what they wanted for a change. In return, they showed me that I do have weakness. I can lose. They have given me yellow.

GREEN

After the first breaking, it becomes easier for them to push and prod me. Johanna had forgiven me for my lapse as she calls it. She pokes fun at my gentleman tendencies and teases that Effie ingrained my manners thoroughly if I can maintain chivalry while visiting Hell. It's these little moments that give me the determination to rebuild my walls and fortify my defenses. If she can hold, so can I. This vow keeps me grounded until they bring out the next weapon in their arsenal. They show me green. The screen is blank at first and then fills with a wavering image of golden sunlight being filtered through dark mottled green. The sound is muffled both from the wind and distance. The picture quality, however, is crystal clear. They walk slowly toward the fence line. Her head is turned toward him, an intense expression means she's both listening closely and evaluating her options. She's a consummate survivor. Whatever line he's feeding her, it is clearly catching her interest. He stops just within the trees and snags her arm. As she looks at him with questioning eyes, he answers her unspoken query with a kiss. My hands clinch as she stands silently accepting his advances and then returns them. A date stamp in the corner marks the occurrence as shortly after our Victory tour. It's the day I agreed to run away with her. It's also the day that he was whipped within an inch of his life. It's when I knew I had lost her forever as I glimpsed their clasped hands held tightly in sleep. Knowing this, I watch them and I feel myself shatter. I can't speak. I can't even breathe. This has managed to cut me like nothing else. I feel the ache all the way to my bones and I can't stop the fury that crosses my face as the picture freezes with a scene that will be engraved in my mind. Watching them as I am watched in turn, I see green.

BLUE

The needle slides into my vein and heat follows after. The venom hits my blood like an inferno consuming all that I know in the fires of delusion and dreams. Her name cuts me now. Each memory of her is like a shock to my soul. I feel the current slice through me, convulsing my bones and grinding me to dust. The videos run nonstop now…most especially when I'm consumed in liquid fire. My fingers, the inside of my arms, my chest. Her face becomes the impetus for my agony. Cobalt forks flicker just out of sight and traces burning paths through my memories. I'm left with tattered and torn shreds that scorch and scald in its wake. Nothing is spared and no image left untouched. Those few precious moments that I cling to because they're real; even those fall before the end. The pearl and the beach sear and singe. The cave blackens and chars. Everything I know falls to black but all that I see is blue.

PURPLE

I don't know where I am. The voices won't leave me alone anymore. I can never rest and I have no concept of peace. The nightmares are constant. Waking and sleeping. Night and day, they haunt me and I'm powerless to resist them. She killed my family. She tried to kill me. She destroyed my home. She must be stopped. She must pay for what she has done. She crushed my heart. She broke me. The dark hair swings freely, not confined by braid nor tie. The gray eyes are wide and pleading. The voice, while not familiar, pleads with me to remember. Memories splinter and shards fall like shattered glass. They taunt me with the knowledge that I will never truly know what is real again. The edges glitter and wave and the madness takes hold. My rainbow finds its ending in the purple that blooms on her face, around her neck, on my hands. We put the final pieces in place. She falls to the floor as I do and we end it as we began. Together.

END PART 4

A/N I've been toying around with various ideas to extend this story into Mockingjay…this is the first step along that path. Thanks for reading. Review if it pleases you! Until next time, Salanderjade


	5. How Deep the Poison Goes

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

Musical inspiration REM "The One I Love.' The link is "watch?v=c4kDndHQypI"

A/N This takes place during the events of Chapter 22 in Mockingjay. Special thanks to Morgana 359 for the idea. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games. I just play in the sandbox.

Part 5: How Deep the Poison Goes

_Mockingjay (pg 301) A single word. Echoing throughout the tunnels. One word. One name. Repeated over and over again. "Katniss." _

"Have you eaten?" Her voice penetrates the fog that I've slipped into since we first entered the tunnels. We had been following Pollux for hours through the dank twists and turns. I had wryly encouraged him when we first took refuge in the underground. Castor had revealed that his brother had worked in this wretched place for five years before managing to buy his way out. For a brief instant, I felt whole again. The laughter and half-hearted smile from Pollux pulled something out of me that I thought had long since withered and died. The Capital had been thorough in its efforts to eradicate everything that defined who I was. It turned me inside out and I'm still finding my way back. This realization bears down on me as I trudge between Gale and Jackson, following Pollux through the dark.

We spent hours in the misty gloom, dodging Avoxes, cameras, and mutts before she finally called a halt. It's three in the morning and walking combined with the pressing weight of what I've become has left me exhausted both mentally and physically. I lay down with the others but my eyes won't close. I can only stare at the flashing lights and listen to the soft breathing of those around me. I don't know how much time passes before she stirs and sends Jackson to bed. She eats and talks quietly with Pollux as they examine the Holo in an attempt to discover the safest passage. I stare blankly at the wall but let the sound of her voice wash over me. It comforts me. I feel safe just listening to her, knowing that she's close by. That, at least, is one thing the hijacking didn't change.

My mind registers that she's asking me whether or not I have eaten. Wordlessly, I shake my head and she hands me a can of soup, retaining the lid. I chug the contents, hiding my smirk behind the motion. She is oblivious about so many things. Her thoughts were clearly written on her face when she palmed the lid. She thinks that I will harm myself if given the opportunity. She's still trying to protect me even after all this time. When I'm finally finished eating, she questions me about the shiny memories. I don't want to discuss this in front of Pollux but can't leave the inquiry unanswered. I can't do that to her. "I can sort certain things out. They have a pattern. The altered memories are too intense. They are shiny and tend to shift and change."

"So you can sort out what's true and what's not. That's good, isn't it?"

She eyes me carefully but takes the can when I down the last bits and hand it back. "If you say so. And if I could grow wings, then I could fly. Only I can't grow wings. Real or not real?" I whisper.

"Real," she returns. "But people don't need wings to survive."

I smile sadly, "No, they don't. But mockingjays do." She stiffens and then gestures feebly; telling me that I should get some sleep. I lie down and rest my head on my folded arms. Her hand finds my face and brushes the hair back from my forehead. I freeze before I can stop myself, sure that the voices will be screaming for her blood at any moment. I'm surprised that the only reaction it brings is a skim of gooseflesh that dances on my arms and down my spine. "You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real." It comes out as a low whisper. I'm almost certain that she doesn't hear.

My heart thuds in my chest when she mouths back, "Real. That's what we do. We protect each other." She continues to absently smooth back my hair. It's the first time since the Quell that she's touched me of her own free will. My eyes close of their own volition and I slip into sleep. I don't know how long I'm out before something shakes my arm. My eyes fly open to meet Pollux' blue ones. He nods and then makes his way to Cressida. I see her moving amongst the others gently shaking those awake who have managed some form of rest. She pauses and glances around, cocking her head as if listening. I strain my ears but am unable to pinpoint what has caught her attention. Her expression grows more and more focused as her eyes search the tunnel. I see them widen at the same moment my ears register the low, almost inaudible sound. It comes in quietly, a low hissing whoosh that seems to ebb and flow. It sounds like a steam escaping a pipe. It sounds almost like breathing. She waves at the group, gesturing for silence. Then I hear it, and the blood freezes in my veins. One hissing sound broken into two drawn out syllables. The first comes hard, caught in the throat and hastily spit out. The second slips off the tongue smoothly. The breath releasing, the end rolling free. Repeated over and over. Calling her name. Katniss. Kat-nisss. Kat-niiissss.

It hits me with the force of a tribute train. One moment, I'm listening to the sibilant rasping and the next the world goes black. My breathing slows down and stutters...then races to catch up with the panting whispers that seem to echo throughout the chamber. She hastily scans the surrounding areas, her eyes wide and frightened. Her eyes fall to look disconsolately at me and she staggers back, bow coming up to aim unerringly at my head. I realize then that the reverberation is coming not from the sound enhancing qualities of the stone walls enclosing us; it's coming from me.

My mouth is moving as I unconsciously repeat her name over and over again. It pounds in my head, ricocheting backward and forth; demanding that I join them. Hunt her down. Rip her apart. Tear her to shreds. Cut and carve until no trace of her remains. I feel myself split, one part abhorrent at the action I am considering and the other eager for the sight of the light leaving her eyes. Katniss. Katniss. Katnissss. The avalanche of sound and emotions push me down and roll over me like a tidal wave. End it now. End her. It will all stop if she stops. Help them and I can finally be free of this poison that invades every corner and crevice. I can be me again. I feel myself moving, climbing to my feet and shuffling toward her. My intentions are as clear as the words that fall from my mouth. The arrow aimed at my head means nothing. It's a futile last resort that will buy her moments only. They will be here before she can finish me. I only have to keep her occupied until they come. Then and only then will it finally be over. She will be gone. I will be free.

The snap back to reality comes like a spring that has been stretched taut and then recoils on itself. The release brings total chaos to what's left of my mind. I freeze and sit up abruptly. My eyes widen as they take her in, standing at attention; bow drawn back and arrow trembling as it awaits flight. My breath comes in short spurts and I raise my hand to stay her. "Katniss," her name slips free but this time it's me speaking and not the monster that he made me. My head jerks toward her. The urgency is still there but the reason behind it has changed. I have to get her out of here. She has to move now. There is no time. "Get out of here!" I shout. My throat spasms as I force the words past the knot that has lodged in my throat. "Go now!"

She hesitates. Damn her and her stubbornness. For once, I wish that she would just listen and do as I ask. Not her. Not Katniss Everdeen. She stands her ground, bow lowered but still ready to let go at a moment's notice. "Why? What is making that sound?" What the hell does it matter? She knows that they are coming. She knows that she is the target. She knows that I'm one step from joining them. The urge to take her head hasn't left me. I'm able to put it aside. The hold is tenuous and fleeting. I know that the break can happen again. It's only a matter of time. Why won't she just go? Why does she have to make everything so damned difficult? My eyes find Gale's in the half-light. I beg him silently to just take her and go. Useless bastard. He stands there, fingering his bow and watching me warily. The choking wheeze that makes up her name continues to rebound in the tunnel. She has to go. She can't go... Ebony ribbons twine through my mind, flailing and flaming my awareness to a fever pitch. Hunt her down. Save her. Kill her. Kiss her. Hold her in my arms. Hold her here. The knife edge I stand on quivers beneath me and I can't move.

"Go! They're here to kill you!" I grate out as I grab on to the few fleeting remnants left of myself. "Run! Get out! Go!" My voice is no longer quivering. It's weak and thready, but not crazy. I've managed to find some semblance of strength in the act of falling apart. I cling to it and ride the waves of madness swirling around me. "Go!" I shout again! Hell and fire! What is it going to take to get this girl to move? She lets go of the bow, letting the string go slack and then offers to act as bait. My fists clench and I furiously seek Gale's eyes once more. He sees my anxiety and frowns. Finally, I think to myself. He declares that he won't be separated from her and my relief is palpable. If I fall, she will still have someone to watch her back. Even if it is from me. They shuffle the available weaponry until everyone is armed. Except me. Not that I blame her. Hell, I was practically chanting her name along with whatever is following us. I'm not trustworthy. I am more apt to use the weapon against her rather than to protect or defend.

We make our way out of the room, glancing around hesitantly as we enter the main thoroughfare. They have to be tracking us through scent. It's the only explanation. It's a flimsy hope that the stench of the sewage will mask our passage. They have been made for one purpose: to track Katniss. The moment they found Boggs in the rubble and realized that we had survived, they would have pulled out every available option to make sure that the Mockingjay was neutralized. Snow couldn't risk letting her run loose. She had stirred up too much trouble already. He would have been prepared for every contingency. He won't leave things to chance. Clearly, whatever is following us has been held in reserve for a long time. What else could explain my urge to join them? I was programed to help them. I'm a puppet still dancing on Capital strings. I've managed to cut a few but there are more not as easily detected. Nor will they be so lightly shed. Whatever is back there will be engineered to scare her, unhinge her. He will want her to bolt for the first convenient exit. I follow blindly, closing off as much of my attention as possible. I can't afford to let them distract me again. I might not be able to come back this time.

She's falling into his trap and there is nothing that I can do to stop it. She has let haste and terrors govern her path. She is leading us frantically toward the promise of a safety that will kill us all. We're making too much noise to pass through unheeded. Voices carry, guns bang against low hanging objects, and boots scuff on stone. Distant screams begin ringing through the tunnels causing steps to falter and heads to turn. Memories gained in the white surround me. Flashes of blue ring my vision. The phantom scent of burning flesh and hair scrunch my nose. Pollux clearly knows what is happening just as well as I do. His white face and clenched fists are testament to that. He meets my resigned look with a hopeless one of his own. Since he can't give it voice, I take up the task. "Avoxes. Darius made those sounds when they tortured him. They made me listen as they took him apart. I couldn't help him. I had to hear him die." Tears roll unnoticed down my face, overlooked by all but one. Pollux reaches out and grabs my hand. I squeeze it back in silent thanks and then let him go. He looks at me with entirely too much understanding. "Listen," I choke out softly. The screams go silent and the whispers resume. Her name floats uninterrupted through the tunnels. They are on our trail now, on a lower level and still behind us but gaining steadily.

We begin to run, following closely on Pollux's heels as he leads us to a stairwell. Katniss is directly behind him, glancing intermediately at the Holo clasped firmly in her hand. They have paused briefly to examine the route when she bends over, gagging and choking. Jackson calls for masks but she is the only one reacting. "Roses," she gasps. The others look around confused. There are no blooms, no perfume, nothing to pull that observation from her. I'm the only one who winced in sympathy. I know now what he has done, what weapon he has brought to bear on her. I, too, had smelled the cloying heady scent of the blossoms he favored. She stumbles out into the Transfer, a hidden roadway to facilitate the easy passage of delivery vehicles without interfering with the aesthetics of the pretty painted streets aboveground. She fires into the first pod and kills the mutant rats inside. She then skirts the next intersection carefully, shouting back at us to follow her steps exactly. There is something hidden in the middle of this pretty passage called a Meat Grinder. No one is exactly sure what that entails nor are we in a hurry to find out. The unmarked pod takes all of us by complete surprise when it triggers.

Finnick grabs her and spins her around. She pulls the bow up to unleash an arrow but Gale has beaten her to the task. Two arrows fall unimpeded to the ground, bouncing carelessly off the shaft of golden light. Within its embrace, Messalla stands frozen as his flesh dissolves. The rest stand, jaws agape. The sight is apparently more than they can process. Strangely, my mind is clear. "We can't help him!" I shout. I grab Pollux and shove him gently. He gives me a despairing look but hurries down the walkway. The rest follow quickly. I touch her shoulder, shaking her slightly to pull her attention away from the horrifying form bathed in golden radiant light. She shakes her head, as if awakening from a trance and bolts. She barely manages to halt her momentum before she stumbles into the next intersection. The gunfire that erupted at our appearance quickly takes care of any questions as to why she didn't just make a run for it.

Damned Peacekeepers have cut us off. With the Meat Grinder guarding against a hasty retreat, the only option available to our group is to return fire. They run toward us and straight to their death. The Star Squad lives up to its name. The Peacekeepers continue to move forward, and my companions obligingly put them down. It's a turkey shoot and the Peacekeepers are on the ground before they even register that they have been shot. It's a far more merciful death than we would have been accorded. The white forms are soon reinforced by others. My throat closes when my brain screams that what is emerging from the tunnel isn't another squad of Peacekeepers but the stuff of nightmares.

They are pale, four-limbed, humanoid forms. Their jutting heads, arched backs and lizard like tails clearly point up their unnatural origins. They slither forward and fall on the Peacekeeper both living and dead alike. Apparently, they have an affinity for heads if the tearing and severing of necks is anything to go by. Once the last head is noisily detached, they lose interest and creep toward us. She screams at us to follow her and lets an arrow go into the intersection. With a heavy metallic clang, the Meat Grinder engages. The teeth erupt through the painted and lacquered surface. They rend and cleave everything in their way leaving bloody torn bits to mark their passage. "Forget it. What's the quickest way out of here? We need to get up top." She yells to Pollux. He leads us to a door, then down a concrete pipe that bubbles and reeks with foul smelling runoff. The path runs into a miniscule ledge that leads to a narrow bridge. We slip and slide our way across and gradually come to an alcove that shelters a ladder leading upward. Pollux smacks the ladder and gestures upward. This is the way out.

A quick count shows that we are short a couple of members. She curses fluently when told that Jackson and Leeg One have stayed to hold the mutts at the Grinder. She moves to retrace our steps but is halted both by the appearance of the mutts on the ledge and Homes' hand. Gale yells for us to stand clear and lets an explosive arrow go into the bridge. The mutts, hands and mouths smeared with blood and gore, fling themselves into the bubbling torrent. They shriek her name in a constant refrain punctuated with howls and screams when an arrow or bullet finds a tender spot. They keep coming. Hit over and over again, flesh torn and chunks ripped from limbs and torsos; they keep coming. An endless supply flows like hell's own fury from the tunnels. They don't hesitate to enter the sewage but dive in, flailing and falling as they fight toward us. Her name is a curse on their lips. The blood from Jackson and Leeg One combine with the cloying scent of roses until the very air around us stinks of him. His phantom form taunts us with the promise of approaching death. I scream at her to move, to climb, and to get away...but she doesn't listen.

Desperate, I grab her and slam her bodily against the ladder. "Climb," I scream as I force her hands to grasp the rung. Moving as if in a trance, she slowly obeys. Pollux went ahead of her. I climb just behind her, my head turning to make sure that Cressida is still behind me. Pollux clamors off of the ladder and pulls her up the remaining few steps. She turns, and grasps my hands. She heaves and I am pulled up beside her. I reach down and grab Cressida by the collar, hoisting her up the remaining few feet. She collapses in a heap beside me, breathing coming short and furiously as she scans the ladder for the rest of us. Katniss blanches when she realizes that none of the others have made it to up the incline. She darts toward the ladder only to be knocked back by Gale as he hastily ascends. His neck is slashed and split. His uniform hangs in tattered shreds. He pulls her back and shakes her as she attempts yet again to descend the ladder.

"There's nobody left. They're not coming." He screams at her. The terrified cries ringing through the cavern underscore his statement. She shakes her head in disbelief and shines a light back over the edge. A glint of copper flashes and a battling form takes shape. He's being pulled down like a stag. He continues to struggle, the gun in his hands as alive as the mutts that surround him. Three take hold and attempt to pull him off the ladder. He manages to free one arm and uses that to climb up one rung. That one step costs him dearly. The moment his hand touches the ladder, a mutt tugs his head back and another voids his throat. Then it's over.

She pulls the Holo from her belt and whispers to it. She drops it down the shaft and covers her head as the flames shoot upward along with a rain of flesh. Pollux slams the lid down and she rallies, pulling the others to their feet. She grabs a length of bandage from a pair of hands and winds it around Gale's neck then gently guides him toward the rest of the group. She pauses and turns back. Her eyes sweep the alcove and find me huddled on the floor with my head in my hands. "Peeta," she says. She kneels down and pulls my hands away from my face. "Peeta?" she questions softly.

I can't answer. I can't move. The cuffs around my wrists dig into the flesh, mercilessly cutting into them. Blood wells up and coats the metal along with her fingers as her hands slide up my arms and our fingers are intertwined. The mutts are gone but the hissing sound of her name echoes in my ears. Sparks and flames spiral in my gut. Even now, I feel myself breaking. My arms tense until the muscles are as hard as concrete. I shake my head, my vision blurs and blackness threatens to overwhelm me. My hands shake in her grasp, fingers trembling as I long to wind them around her neck. I fight it back, rein it in. She stares at my face, willing me to focus. I close my eyes, clenching them tightly together as I fight to remain myself. The voices scream, her name a chorus in my ears. Kill her. End it. Find peace at last.

I loosen my hold on her hands and jerk the cuffs tight. A moan escapes my lips as the metal bears down. "Leave me," I whisper. "I can't hang on." I finally manage to meet those eyes. Those beautiful gray eyes that stare at me so desperately. I'm losing myself and when it's done then I won't be able to stop. I'll do whatever it takes to close those eyes forever. Stop that heart. That fierce protective, fragile heart that breaks so easily for those she loves. I'll break my own when I stop hers from beating. But the poison is too strong and I can't stand any longer. He's won and I hate him for it. I will kill what I love most in the world and die doing it. "Yes, you can!" Her fierce words ring in my ears. They act as a tether, steadying me even as I slip over the edge. I shake my head anyway. "I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them." She has to understand that I'm not the boy she knew any longer. Once control has slipped, I will be just another mutt bent on her destruction. She will have to kill me before I kill her. That act alone will hand Snow his final victory. The star-crossed lovers forced to slaughter each other. It's the ending of the Games that he wanted. He won't rest until he finally has his victor.

She leans forward unexpectedly and kisses me. My whole body shakes as she presses tightly against me, her lips locked firmly on mine. Two opposing forces are fighting for control. The voices shriek and heat envelopes me. Remembered cobalt tongues of fire flash across my eyes, blinding and burning me. Kill or be killed. Her blood on my hands. Love. Hate. Reverence. Repugnance. Play for the cameras. Play with my heart. Break me down. Love me. Be with me. Let me love you. How the hell did I get here? How did it come to this? My breath comes hard. Her mouth against mine. She begs, "Don't let him take you from me." Her voice pulls up images that I've tried so hard to overcome. Johanna broken and bleeding as the water pours over her head and the current scorches blackened char into her skin. Me begging for just one minute's respite when the beatings are at their worst. When I can't even feel the blows land anymore. When red flows freely and all I want to do is give them whatever it will take to make it stop. I pant and gasp as the tightness in my chest refuses to let the air in. "No. I don't want to..." She squeezes my fingers until the pain blends and runs with that emanating from my mangled wrist.

The plea that rises from her lips pulls me back. It's the one request that I can never fail to answer. It's the one promise that I refuse to break no matter what. It's the one thing that can keep me whole when everything else is falling apart. "Stay with me." Her voice is frantic. She's scared and her face shows it. She's already seen and lost too much. She can't let anything or anyone else go.

I feel myself steady. I ease my hold on the cuffs and let them slip free of the bloody grooves that they've dug into my wrists. My eyes blink rapidly, adjusting to the low light. My breathing slows to something approaching normalcy. I swallow noisily and let my gaze wander over her face. She peers at me hopefully, clearly noting the changes. I smile hesitantly and the word slips out. I look at her and repeat the promise that I made long ago. The answer I gave her when she was drugged and didn't realize what she was asking. I knew then just as I know now. I give her the only possible answer that I can ever give to this request. "Always."

End Part 5.

A/N Many heartfelt thanks to my friend, Miss Mustang for her encouragement and help during this chapter. Lady, it couldn't have been written without you. Thanks ever so much! Dear Readers, please review if it pleases you! Thanks for stopping by and having a look at my ramblings. It's much appreciated. Until next time, Salanderjade


	6. The Price You Pay for Remembrance

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

A/N This chapter will be told by Johanna Mason. It deals with events that weren't discussed in canon but have been inferred by the author**. **It is disturbing to me..but will stay within a "T" rating**. ** I don't own the Hunger Games…that honor goes to Suzanne Collins

Part 6: The Price You Pay for Remembrance

It seemed like most of the momentous events in her life had taken place in train stations. She had left home on a train and been brought back on a train. She had watched children go to their deaths year after year; their last sight of anything familiar was the depot of their district fading in the distance. For the first time, Johanna Mason was actually happy to see a departing conveyance. A waving hand and shock of blonde hair caught her notice. Johanna smiled and returned the gesture, then stuck her clenched fists into her pockets as she watched the train pull away from the platform.

"Good bye, Peeta Mellark," she commented quietly. "Have a good trip and welcome home."

"So that's it then," another voice broke the silence. "A few months closeted up with a fancy doctor and it's decided that he's safe to go off unsupervised and unguarded."

Johanna smirked and turned quickly to meet the turbulent gray eyes of Gale Hawthorne. "Well, well, well. Hello there, gorgeous. Of all the people I expected to see old Lover Boy on his way, you would have been the last on the list. Especially considering where he's going." She smirked at his fierce expression. "I'm sure that he'll keep those home fires burning. There's not much else to do in the backend of nowhere that you call home."

Gale's jaw visibly tightened and his nostrils flared. Other than those few outward signs, he managed to keep a tight rein on his emotions. His eyes darted from hers to the now empty tracks. "I don't understand why he's being allowed to go there alone. He should be where he can be monitored and treated. Here would be best or District Four where the new hospital is being built. It doesn't make sense for him to be turned loose without proper precautions being taken."

Johanna huffed out a laugh. "You mean he should be allowed to go anywhere but home. He shouldn't be allowed to go back to the place where his family lived and died. Here, there, or stuck in a hole in District Thirteen and never allowed to see the sun again. Anywhere but close to your precious Katniss. Admit it, Gale. You don't want him near her." Her smile was predatory as she eyed him, her mocking tone making the words that much more cutting. "You're afraid that he'll succeed where you failed miserably, aren't you? You're pathetic."

Gale's eyes blazed and his temper ignited. "He is dangerous. He's tried to kill her more than once. She has no protection out there. He could kill her and we wouldn't know before it's too late."

Her disparaging laughter cut him off. Johanna shook her head and smirked as he sullenly withheld his arguments. "She has no protection out there," she echoed scornfully. "He tried to kill her. Honestly, you're going to have to do better than that. You've had every opportunity to go. You chose not to. Don't whine now about her safety and his madness. You had your chance, gorgeous, and you blew it yet again."

Gale's eyes went wide in disbelief at her callous accusations. "I blew my chance. When in hell did I ever have a chance? She thinks that I killed her sister. That bomb almost killed her. She broke down completely. What makes you think she could even stand the sight of me, much less love me? You're crazy!"

She nodded amicably. "I'm a raving lunatic. I hate to burst your bubble but so is your precious Katniss. This is what being a Victor is all about, pretty boy. I hope you didn't fall for that whole bathed in riches and revered line. We were nothing but playthings for Snow to amuse himself with in between Games broadcasts." She shrugged blithely. "I don't know what she might or might not have done. You never gave her the chance to know either. You ran off and hid in Two while she went through hell here. You didn't visit her in the hospital. You let her face both Snow and Coin alone." She smiled maliciously. "With friends like you, she didn't need any enemies. She's lucky to have someone like Peeta."

"That's what you call lucky?" He spat contemptuously. "You're right about one thing. You are crazy. She'd be better off dead than trapped in Twelve with Peeta Mellark."

His back was pinned against the wall before he had even registered her movement. Her arm was like iron as she pressed it firmly against his windpipe. Her brown eyes were feral as they raked over his face. Her low voiced growl raised the hair on the back of his neck. "Don't ever talk about him like that in front of me. You hear me, gorgeous? I'll kill you where you stand and won't even blink." Her nose almost touched his as she leaned forward, putting more force into the arm she had braced against his neck. "I've known two good men in my life. Only two. I won't stand by idly and let anyone say a bad thing about either of them. Do you understand me? You have no idea what he went through to get back to her! You don't know." She eased backward and dropped her arm. Gale pushed away from the wall, his breath coming in panting gasps as he fought to breathe normally. Johanna met his gaze stonily, practically daring him to contradict her. He wisely chose to remain silent.

His hand rubbed absently at his neck, attempting to relieve the soreness. He watched her cautiously. Despite their difference in size, she could clearly take him down whenever she wished. He blew out a breath and reached for a semblance of calm. Once he felt in control, he quietly stated, "I know that Snow didn't go easy on any of you. I was a member of the team that pulled you out. You don't know what she had to deal with either. She fell apart. She was a wreck. She can't take anymore. She needs to heal. She can't do that with him there as a constant reminder."

Johanna laughed in amusement. She met his eyes and retorted, "I know that you were there. That fact alone should make it obvious why he has to go back to Twelve. She fell apart because he wasn't with her, Gale. She knew what Snow was doing to him and she couldn't take it. They belong together. They are stronger together. Even I can see that. She needs to heal and so does he. They can do that in Twelve away from all of this. They've earned that. He's more than earned it."

Gale's eyes narrowed questioningly. Something in her tone. She knew something that she wasn't sharing. It obviously was enough for her to take on any critic that had the audacity to question Peeta Mellark's motives or living arrangements. Gale let his mind go back to the moment he entered the prison block and saw what remained of the Victor/tributes the Capital had retrieved from the Quarter Quell arena. The images of that instant still haunted him. That knowledge caused him to bite his tongue as he looked into the wide brown eyes of the woman he had carried out of the lockups personally. He couldn't and wouldn't argue this point with her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that he hadn't suffered. I know he did. I've seen it."

Gale's voice faded as Johanna's mind slid into the slippery chasm of the past. Her mind, of necessity, tended to stow the memories of her time in the Capital in an air tight compartment never again to see the light of day. Some things sneaked up on her when she least expected it, and this was one of those times. There were two things that she would never forget as long as she lived. The first was the sound of his screaming. Some nights, the remembered noises woke her up, shaking and trembling as she lay tangled in the sweaty confines of her sheets. The second was the look in those lost, forsaken blue eyes when he realized there was no way out. If eyes were indeed windows to the soul, at that moment Peeta Mellark's died. The flame had gone out. It hurt Johanna to see it. If she could have gotten her hands on an ax, she would have gladly killed him to save him from this act. As it was, all she could do was hope one day he would forgive her. That he would forgive himself.

Shaking herself free of the prison her own thoughts had constructed, Johanna met Gale's eyes and nodded tersely. She turned on her heel and moved quickly toward the ramps that would take her back up to street level. She had only taken a few steps when Gale's voice stopped her cold. "What did Snow do to you? What did Peeta do? Why are you protecting him now? What happened down there?"

She schooled her features, repressing all outward signs that her mind and heart had just locked up simultaneously. That question blazed a trail to places that Johanna had no intentions of visiting or examining. She forced her lips to curl into a wide, taunting smile. "What did Peeta do? He did what we always do, Gale. He survived. That's what Victors are best at. It's our biggest talent. He survived." She turned quickly away and lost herself in the teeming Capital crowd. It wasn't until the lift door that would take her to her quarters closed behind her that Johanna felt the warm wetness that drenched her cheeks.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XO

Johanna woke up screaming, her hands blindly reaching across the cold sheets for anything to hold on to. Her fingers curled around a pillow and she pulled it against her and buried her face into the soft folds. She cried for what seemed like hours until her muscles ached and her shirt clung damply. Drenched in sweat and the aftereffects of yet another nightmare, she let out a shaky breath and wound her arms around her bent knees. Resting her forehead, she went through the exercises that Dr. Aurelius had recommended until she felt a measure of calm seep up. Breathe slowly and deeply. Flex fingers and toes. Concentrate on the beating of her heart. Let that rhythm push everything else out. Breathe in time with it. Think only about that thump-thud. Let it fill you up. Johanna chanted the steps like a mantra.

It didn't always work but it was the best she had. It was infinitely better than morphling or Haymitch's precious liquor. She breathed and kept time in her head until the gnawing anxiety unknotted her belly. Finally feeling steady, she eased her feet to the floor and padded her way into the kitchen to get a cup of tea. The kettle eventually shrieked its readiness and pulled her from the intense study of a crack in the wall. The comforting warmth of the cup in her hand soothed her further. She absent-mindedly reached into a cabinet and pulled out a snack to go with her drink. She took a quick bite and the taste of a cheese bun exploded on her tongue. That one act sheared the barriers away and she was lost once again.

"_I won't do it. I don't care what they do to me. I won't do that." The boy's stubbornness chose the worst possible times to assert itself. He was normally the most cooperative, helpful sort but on those few occasions that he chose to be difficult he could rival the brainless girl in obstinacy. President Snow had just advised them of his latest scheme. Johanna had been unfazed. She was surprised that it had taken the man this long. Peeta, however, was dumbfounded. The idea has apparently never even occurred to him. Johanna had laughed at the girl's purity during training for the Quarter Quell. She felt that same amusement bubble up here and now. He was as clueless as the girl. No wonder the star-crossed fable had so successfully blinded the Capital. The two perpetrators had no skill in artifice. Not really. The boy had made feeble attempts but was not on par with what came as easily as breathing to those of Snow's ilk. Your soul had to be as black as District Twelve's coal to sink to those depths. _

_Normally, she would find his display funny. However, this was deadly serious and she had to get through to him before he did something that would bring about permanent damage. What they were being forced into wasn't ideal, but the alternative was worse. "If not you, it will be somebody else. It will happen regardless. He'll make us watch. He's already seen that is the easiest way to get to you. I told you not to give him the satisfaction, kid; you didn't listen. Now, he's upped the ante." She paused then continued softly. "I don't like this any more than you do. You can't let them know that they're getting to you. If you give them any opening, they will own you." She swallowed heavily and played her trump card, knowing that it was a wasted gesture but it was all she had left. "Finnick did it for years, kid. You only have to once. Just grin and bear it." _

_His blue gaze collided with her brown and she was taken aback to see the tears that were flowing silently down his cheeks. "I'd never be able to forgive myself. I couldn't face …" his voice trailed off and his fingers curled into fists. "I don't want… I just…" He turned away and lowered his head. The trembling shoulders and inaudible gasps gave him away. Johanna made a supreme effort to remain standing. She refused to give the bastards the satisfaction. When his head lifted, Johanna recoiled. His eyes were dead. The normally sun-kissed blue had faded to a muddled blank stare. He swiped his face with a rough palm and his jaw set in determined lines. In that one brief instant, Johanna wished with all her heart for a weapon to magically appear. Killing him was preferable to this. _

Johanna shook herself free of the memories and looked down at the now mangled cheese bun that she had unconsciously torn to bits. She cursed fluidly at her stupidity and grabbed the waste basket to sweep the remains into the bin. Clutching the cup, she slugged the tepid dregs of the tea, tossed the empty container into the sink and hurried from the room. She desperately wanted a shower but the aversion to water had been literally scourged into her skin and bones. Dr. Aurelius had encouraged her to take it slowly. She had been sticking mainly to sponge baths, gradually submerging one limb at a time. She held it there until the panic attacks sent her scrambling for the nearest morphling bottle or closet. Tonight, she dived into the cubicle and punched the buttons furiously in an attempt to occupy her mind. Cut off the pain of one traumatic event by subjecting herself to another. Dr. A wouldn't be happy with her reasoning but Johanna didn't need a second opinion this time.

The water stung her face and back as fine needles lanced her skin. Her mind spun furiously, the ghostly echoes of scorched flesh and singed hair competing with a never ending river flowing in a continuous stream. She began to choke, fighting for air needlessly. She backed from underneath the biting spray and caught her breath. Without the distraction, another memory rose unbidden. This one folded her over and she sank to her knees, arms clutching her head.

_Pull your mind away, she whispered. Go somewhere else. Don't think about it. Don't acknowledge it. You're not here. This isn't real. Blue eyes wide and panicked before they flicked closed. Sweat dampened blond curls. Inaudible whispers. Incoherent prayers. Gasped pleas. Finally, warm salty rain splashing on her face as it ran unheeded from those glazed and vacant eyes. _

Johanna callously stabbed her palms with her nails to force those thoughts back into their box. She heard muffled sobs and knew that they were coming from her but she refused to give them notice. Her mind faded away, across the miles to District Seven. The whisper that the wind made as it danced through the pines. The warmth of the sun on her back and shoulders as she took in the variegated shades of green. The hidden glades and secluded meadows that nestled untouched and unbothered in the low valleys. Home. Flashes and traces of events too soaked in heartache attempted to force themselves to the fore…but she held on with grim vigor. She refused to back down. She would not let that bastard win. The pounding shower peppered her exposed flesh and Johanna welcomed it. For the first time, she willingly turned her face into it and let it wash over her. Despite the panic that threatened to overtake her, she smiled. It was a small victory. Johanna didn't let that deter her. A win was still a win no matter how inconsequential.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XO

When the letter came, she sat at the table and stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Her name was written in a precise, even scrawl that had practically shouted its origins. It had been a year since she had sent him off with a smile and wave at the train station. In that time, the world had changed and she had gone along with it. Eschewing the Capital, she had settled in District Two. Oddly enough, Gale Hawthorne was a frequent visitor. They still held one another at arm's length and their arguments were fast becoming the stuff of legend. Johanna snorted derisively when he accused her of purposefully picking fights. She grinned each time the accusation was made and retorted, "How is it my problem that you can't go a day without insulting me? I'm only defending myself. I'm so sorry if it impugns your dignity, Mister Fancy pants Director or whatever the hell they call you." He rolled his eyes but the tiny creases that lifted the corners of his mouth betrayed him. She didn't call it a relationship. Never that. Nor was he a friend. She could barely tolerate him. She did enjoy their fights. He wasn't afraid of her and didn't shy away from her brutal reputation. His fire matched her restlessness. In that light, they were equals. She was happy with their arrangement.

Frustrated, Johanna ripped the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the few brief lines. Her eyebrows arched in amazement and she let out a little laugh. A smile curved her lips and she leaned her head back, eyes closing as a weigh lifted off her shoulders. Smiling to herself, she read the lines once more, confirming what she already knew to be true.

_Johanna, _

_ Our toasting was last week. It was small. Haymitch and Delly were our witnesses. We both wanted you to know. She said to tell you thank you for everything you did for both of us. We miss you. Don't be a stranger. I just wanted to tell you that he didn't win. See you soon. _

_Love,  
Peeta_

End Part 6

A/N There will be an epilogue to finish up this story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted/and added this story as a favorite. It is greatly appreciated. Review if it pleases you. Thanks as always for reading…Salanderjade


	7. Epilogue: So Much for my Happy Ending

Alone is a Five Letter Word for Pain

A/N Final chapter of this one, dear reader. I do hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Music for this one…"Comatose" by Skillet. The link is watch?v=JZNCrLV8W_M in case you're interested….the lyrics really fit.

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. Comatose belongs to Skillet.

Epilogue: So Much for My Happy Ending

_don't wanna live, I dont wanna breathe  
'Les I feel You next to me  
You take the pain I feel  
Waking up to You never felt so real  
I don't wanna sleep, I don't wanna dream  
'Cause my dreams don't comfort me  
The way You make me feel  
Waking up to You never felt so real  
****"Comatose" by Skillet  
__

The first six months were the hardest. Coming back to District Twelve and seeing the pieces of my former life wasn't something that I was prepared for. Everything was gone that made it home. Bitter ashes, heaps of rubble, and the dead lying where they fell that day…these things broke the fragile barriers that I had managed to erect around what was left of my sanity. It wasn't the quick tearing pain that slashes and cuts and then is over. It's the dull throbbing of a tooth ache or a shard of glass embedded deep and the removal is as painful as the injury. Some days, I managed to hold on by clinging to my routines and distractions. Other days, the bad days, I sank into the inky black of madness and was lost. The coming down was the hardest because I never knew what I might find. Broken dishes, overturned furniture, and nightmares burning on a canvas; that is what I hoped for. Discovering injuries to myself that I didn't remember inflicting, chained to a pipe or tied to a chair; those were less desirable but acceptable. Seeing a new bruise or dark shadows under her eyes, that tight worried scowl that puckered her forehead, gray eyes dimmed by a haze of fear…those were the unbearable times. They made me wish that I had stayed in the Capital. It made me wish that Snow had been merciful just once in his miserable life and killed me when he had the chance.

The first one happened just after the primroses were planted next to the house. We were learning how to be comfortable again. She had begun to show an interest in life and I had put the big pieces of myself in place. We made tentative efforts to get a routine in place—eat breakfast, have a conversation, make plans. It became our habit to spend time together just talking—mostly me talking while she watched the fire crackling in the grate or tore a cheese bun into tiny pieces before polishing it off. I spent the day in town delivering bread and catching up on the rebuilding progress. Katniss seldom ventured that way so I usually made it a point to share what items that I thought might pique her interest. I was recounting the humorous story of the day Haymitch's geese had been delivered when a low laugh interrupted me. I glanced up and felt a slow grin bloom on my face at the wide smile that she was wearing. It had been so long since I saw that expression on her face that I stopped mesmerized by the sight before me. The look she shot me was almost fond and she quipped, "You should apply for the position of town crier, Peeta. I swear you have talked to everybody in the District. How do you do it? You remember every conversation and piece of gossip that somebody tells you. You must be part jabberjay. That's the only explanation." She laughed again and turned her attention back to the muffin in her hands. But by then it was too late. I was already gone.

The word echoed in my ears, my mind caught in a whirlwind as the abyss swallowed me whole. These were the worst ones. The times that I could feel the ground heaving beneath my feet and watch the cracks splinter my reason were the ones I feared most. Jabberjay. Why did she have to say that? The phantom smell of bloody roses engulfed me and the white pulled me down. I fought it as hard as I could, clawing and fighting for any shred of lucidity but it was too strong and I had no defense. I was lost.

_Portia and my prep team had been there when I woke up. Portia tried to act as if there was nothing wrong but the tightness in her smile and around her eyes gave the game away. I asked for Katniss as soon as I could untangle my tongue. She gave me a weak smile. "She's fine, Peeta. You'll be told everything you need to know but we have to get you cleaned up. You can't talk to Caesar unless you look your best." I demanded to see Katniss but Portia held firm. Rather than waste precious time insisting on answers that she clearly wasn't prepared to give, I let her work her magic Somehow, she erased all traces of the Quell arena. I was as polished and refined as a fine gem from District One. She patted my shoulder gently and stood aside as the Peacekeepers entered to escort me to the stage, or so I thought. _

_ My first indication that something had gone drastically wrong was the smell. The warm, thick and faintly metallic odor of blood mixed with the cloying sweetness of roses surrounded me. I reflexively gagged at the combination but bit the inside of my cheek to stop it from becoming a full-fledged outbreak of nausea. His eyes were frigid as they bore into mine. He waved toward an empty chair which I took and then he studied me over steepled fingers. "Welcome back to the Capital, Peeta. I am so pleased that you could join us." I couldn't think of a suitable reply so I merely nodded and waited for him to continue. "You probably have many questions which I will be glad to answer but I require your assistance with a small matter first" _

_ "Where is Katniss?" I questioned. "Can I see her? Is she okay?"_

_ His lips curled into a tight smile and he shook his head. "All in good time, Mr. Mellark, all in good time. Right now, we need to discuss our official position. It is the first time in our history that there is no crowned Victor. Miss Everdeen and her compatriots managed to throw everything into chaos. You will help me to restore order and bring those who seek to destroy the peace that we have worked so hard for to heel. Miss Everdeen will be given the opportunity to regain our trust and esteem. Are you prepared to do your duty, Peeta, or will persuasion be required? Don't disappoint me. My patience is stretched as it is." _

_ "I won't agree to anything until I know that Katniss is okay. Where is she? What happened to her?" I demand. I didn't realize that action was my first mistake. There would be many more in the days and weeks to come. _

_ His eyes seemed to ignite. I had heard tales that Snow was little more than a thug cleverly hidden under a guise of carefully constructed refinement and style. I now found myself face to face with the proof of that belief. His fingers curled talon like around the armrests of the chair he so carelessly occupied. The smile that quirked his puffy lips could charitably be called pitying. He gave an amused shake of his head and announced, "I think that you will fulfill our every request. You will do so happily. You, Mr. Mellark, will be our jabberjay. The Rebels have your precious Katniss. They have named her the Mockingjay. She is the face of their pitiful band. It is common knowledge that a mockingjay wouldn't exist without the jabberjay that gave it life. We are of the mind that this situation is the same. Without you, she will fall apart. You will smile when I say smile, you will read the lines that we prepare for you, and you will end this insignificant rebellion before it tears Panem apart. Should you fail, everything and everyone that you hold dear will cease to exist. That includes your precious Katniss. Think carefully, Peeta. Should you refuse, we will be forced to persuade you. That would be most unfortunate." _

_ I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell him to go to hell. The threats that he was more than capable of carrying froze my tongue. I agreed to the first interview and then the second. When those failed to quell the uprising, he made good on his promise. He took me to pieces and then ground me to dust. _

She looked at me through wide, startled eyes. My hands had clamped down tightly on the back of a chair, the wood creaking in protest. I felt my legs tremble as I fought to remain upright. My lips broke open and bled as my teeth tore into them. She moved on silent feet and carefully placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched away from her touch and closed my eyes tightly as the images continued to consume me. They had succeeded in remaking me into a caricature of my former self. I was a puppet still dancing to their tune. My mind was no longer my own. Even dead and buried, Snow owned a part of me.

Tears rolled hot and fast down my face mixing with my blood and sweat. Her fingers tightened and I forced my eyes up to meet her determined ones. "Come back to me, Peeta. This isn't real. What you're remembering isn't real. Don't leave me here." She whispered her wants in a calm steady voice. Her arms quivered in time with the tremors that shook me. "Stay with me, Peeta. Please." That request spoken in her voice reached me when nothing else could. I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply as the images receded. That pounding voice that echoed within the shattered remains of my rational mind gradually quieted. My fingers intertwined with hers and our eyes met and held. She smiled timidly and tightened her grip until it was the only thing real in the world. It steadied me and brought me back. I couldn't speak as my tongue was knotted and thick. I struggled to push the word out but the barrier held true. She bit her lip, maintaining her firm grip on my hand. She gave it a reassuring squeeze and then spoke the word that I couldn't say but wanted to with all my heart. "Always, Peeta. Never forget that. Always."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The most serious one happened about four months after my return to the place of my birth. I had made my way throughout the District during my morning deliveries. The few who had returned were as grateful to receive the fresh bread and rolls as I was to give them. Aware of the attitudes regarding charity, I made trades and bargained for services in exchange for loaves and pastries that I labored over nightly. I went wherever my goods were needed but there were a few places that I avoided at all costs. I wasn't ready yet to acknowledge that everything I knew, every thread of my past had been burned away. The day that I decided to face my demons was the day I almost lost everything I had managed to salvage.

I had seldom if ever been as nervous as I was the morning I decided it was time to view the bakery. I approached her hesitantly and could barely force the words past the sudden lump in my throat. "Will you go somewhere with me? I don't want to do this alone and I'd feel better if you were there." She eyed me curiously but nodded and pulled on her boots and father's old hunting jacket. Climbing to her feet, she waited patiently as I tied and then double knotted my laces, gathering my courage in this simple act. She smiled reassuringly and together we made our way into town. The main square had been mostly cleared but heaps of debris still littered the side streets. I stopped with my heart in my throat and she paused with me. She threaded her fingers through mine and pulled me closer until our breath intermingled and our noses almost touched. She kissed me softly and whispered, "Whenever you're ready. There's no rush. We can take all the time you need." I smiled gratefully and draped my free arm about her shoulders, pulling her more tightly against me. I buried my face in the curve of her neck and dropped a small kiss to the pulse point fluttering there.

"I love you," I breathed the vow onto her skin, hoping that the truth of that statement would soak into her very flesh and bones. "I couldn't do this without you. I need for you to know that."

"It's what we do, Peeta." She whispered back. Her fingers tangled into the curls at my nape. She pulled my face upward and pressed her forehead to mine. "We protect each other. We help each other. I won't leave you. You're not alone. Do you hear me? Never again." She kissed me gently, her eyes piercing and bright. "You're not alone."

We pulled apart reluctantly and made our way forward. As each familiar landmark revealed itself, I felt my chest tighten. My steps faltered as the bakery came into view. There was little remaining of my childhood home. The blast had taken out the living quarters and most of the shop. The large brick oven was mostly intact with the smashed pieces of the roof resting haphazardly against it. One plate glass window was still partially in the frame. The flowing script, "lark" was barely visible. I felt the first stab of agony lance through me. I had painted that sign with my father's approval. My mother had wanted to hire someone, callously remarking that my talent wasn't sufficient to grace the front of the bakery. My father, who rarely denied my mother anything, had firmly retorted that my efforts would be more than satisfactory. I worked harder and more diligently on that sign than any other picture or piece of artwork before. The finished product had been a fancy scroll with curves and whirls usually found only on high end boutiques in the Capital. My mother had grudgingly commended my efforts and my father had beamed proudly. It was one of my best memories of my deceased family.

All of that was gone. Lost in a haze of fire and smoke. Everything swept aside in a burst of white. I dropped her hand and moved toward the place where the front door once stood. I felt tears gather and blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. My breath came in short bursts as a sob threatened to tear free. I heard her call out my name and for once her steps were loud and clumsy as she clattered across the loose stones moving rapidly in my direction. It hit me with the force of a bomb dropping. One moment, I was standing in the broken ruins; the next strapped down in an icy frigid room watching her release the arrow that detonated my yesterdays and doomed my tomorrows to bleakness.

_After a while, the tapes played continuously. My nerves and muscles were in constant agony as they injected a steady stream of venom into my veins. Her name became a curse upon my lips. I watched her standing in the wreckage calmly announcing that no one was left to hear my pleas. Everything that I cared about was gone. She was covered in the bakery's dust and my family's blood. In that moment, I truly knew what hate was. More than the tape of her kissing Gale, this one tore my heart apart. I had loved her. I had been willing to die so that she might live and thrive. In repayment, she had taken everything from me and left me alone. She had hurt me in every possible way and then bragged about it for the whole world to see. No one left to hear me. I would make her pay. I would have my revenge. Her blood was the only thing that would give me peace. _

I moved without thinking. My hands of their own volition reached for her throat. She was agile enough to avoid my grasp and backed hurriedly away. She couldn't move quickly enough to outrun my accusations as they came pouring out of me in a toxic flood. "Bitch, you came here to gloat, didn't you?" My voice dropped to a low growl, hate and loathing making the words sharp and cutting. "You dirty little slut. Did you and that bastard that you fucked out in the woods laugh while my family burned?" She shook her head and watched me carefully as she continued to elude my attempts to reach her. "Don't lie. You're not good at it. I know that you killed them. You couldn't kill me. You were forced to pretend that you loved me. You and I both know that Hawthorne was waiting in the wings the whole time. Did you plan it between the two of you? Poor pitiful Peeta. String him along and play with his heart. You used me, mutt. You played me for a fool in front of the entire country. "

I lunged for her again, losing my footing on the scree and gravel that dotted the sidewalk. She darted away from me, her eyes never straying from my face. "Peeta, you're not making sense. I didn't kill your family. I didn't blow up the bakery. The Capital did. They are responsible for all of this. They want to take you from me. Please don't let them." I shook my head, the surety of her guilt setting my brain on fire. I would make her pay. She wouldn't get away with it. "Peeta, think about it. I was practically comatose after leaving the Arena. I had lost a lot of blood from Johanna cutting my tracker out. I was barely lucid. They bombed the district right after the dome blew. I wasn't even here. I would never hurt you that way, Peeta. I love you." She reached a hand beseechingly in my direction.

"You lie," I hiss menacingly. "I know what you did. You are nothing. You're a mutt and a whore. It makes me sick to look at you." Pounding feet rush toward us and rough hands grab my shoulders and wrestle me to the ground. I scream and flail as I try to free myself. She hunkers down in the dirt with her head in her hands. Thom finally manages to secure my hands and feet with Haymitch's help. My eyes seek her out, my disgust and revulsion evident in my gaze. "Keep that mutt away from me. I'll break her damned neck. I should have done it in Thirteen when I had the chance."

"Shut your mouth, boy!" Haymitch thunders. "Your fucked up head is playing tricks on you. The girl doesn't deserve this. She's been wrong about a lot of things but she's innocent this time. You need to get hold of yourself. She might not forgive you."

Katniss had edged closer during our exchange and she pinned Haymitch with one of her trademark scowls. "He doesn't know what he is saying. Leave him alone." She eyed me hesitantly. "I know you don't believe me now, Peeta, but I love you. I would never take your family from you. I'll be waiting for you when you're better." She stepped away and my gaze followed her as Haymitch and Thom grasped my arms. She turned back briefly and gave me a tiny smile. Something in her gaze broke through the walls of grief and madness that surrounds me. My weeping gains a sigh from Thom and a disgruntled huff from Haymitch.

"Will she forgive me?" I mutter quietly. "How could I say those horrible things to her? I didn't mean them, Haymitch. Will you tell her that? I love her. I didn't…" My voice broke and I gulp down the tangled knot of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. She would never allow me to get close to her again and I couldn't find it within my heart to blame her. I was forever destined to be alone. Alone. That word cut me more deeply than any hijacked memory ever could.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The most painful didn't happen in District Twelve but in a medical bay in District Thirteen. Groggy and disoriented, my eyes opened to a pale yellow light. I tried to move but was paralyzed. My arms and legs refused to work. My eyes dart back and forth in an attempt to locate anything familiar. There was color here. The shock of that discovery sent my brain into chaos. Where was the white? Was this a new game for Snow's sadistic pleasure? What other piece of me could they cut away?

I caught a glimpse of Johanna lying broken and bleeding on a gurney with doctors swarming around her. I attempted to call out her name but my tongue was just as frozen as my limbs. I could only watch in horror as wires were attached to her torso and head. The machines immediately began shrieking and lights flashed. I hurriedly slammed my lids closed against them. It was too much. The wavering, jerking line raced in time with her racing heart and faltering breathing. A mask was shoved over her mouth and nose and a nurse cranked a knob situated over her bed. A needle was pressed into the tube secured at her wrist and the line steadied. I felt a wave of relief rush through me. She would live.

Feeling in the form of a numb tingling swept through me and I gritted my teeth against the pain that fired my nerves. I raised my head, though I gasped with the effort. It felt as though I had been dipped in fire. The flames race through my veins and scorch my muscles. They turn to water, limp and lifeless. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. Once my feet rested firmly on the floor, I closed my eyes and dropped my chin into my chest. I had yet to reason out why the doctors had let me go so long without igniting the blue flames that consumed me. The cobalt forks were as familiar to me as breathing. Their absence had the dual effect of both reprieve and terror. The torture had become my reality. If he was holding back, that meant that he had something far more insidious in mind for our next encounter. I never thought that I would pray to be beaten, but those pleas come forth in breathy whispers and mumbled appeals

Voices outside the door catch my attention and I freeze as I listen carefully to discern why one of them sounded so familiar. They come in one following the other. My eyes skip over the man. His ragged hair and pallid skin suggest a long illness or a brief period of abstinence. The second form caught and held my gaze. Silver eyes brightened as they met my own. A dark coil of hair fell to thin shoulders. An uncertain smile curls up thin, chapped lips. I push the doctors out of my way and leap to my feet. Desperation and an unknown desire twists my gut. Her voice fills the silence as she repeats my name in a constant refrain. I extend my arms out to her and she raises hers in response. The now familiar howl screams for me to end it. The ebony ribbons that wrap my mind in a fog unfurl before the white hot rage engulfs me. My hands bypass her embrace and curl around her throat. Her eyes widen and for the first time I see fear in their depths. She, who had never given in nor given up, stares at me in disbelief as my hands choke the life from her body. "You love me," she gasps, fingers prying desperately at my encircling grip. "You love me."

"You're a mutt." I grate out and lean into my grasp as I tighten my hold. "You don't deserve to live." Her mouth moves but the words didn't come. Purple blotches bloom on her throat and feather her chin. The choking fades to wheezing and her dim eyes roll back until only the whites can be seen. I smile knowing that soon it will be over. I never see the object that connects with the back of my head. My last memory is of her falling to the ground as I feel myself dropping. My last prayer is that she is breathing her last. Maybe then, I can finally be left alone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The bakery will open tomorrow. I stand on the newly finished sidewalk and look up at the freshly painted walls and crisply pressed awning that fronts the main entrance. The dark blue walls and cream trim is a pleasant change from the dull dingy whitewash that my mother insisted on. The blue awning with its snowy edging adds a touch of simple elegance that I appreciate. My mouth curls into a grin at the sign which graces the big picture window. "Mellark's Bakery" is written in a rolling script. Its curves and whirls are traced in white that mirror the awning. Small bistro tables with matching chairs fill up the patio. The outdoor dining area had been a pet project of my father's. He never got around to actually implementing it. When I made the decision to rebuild the bakery, I had wracked my memory for every detail that my father had ever mentioned in passing. If the bakery was going to be redone, it would be according to my father's plans and wishes.

Katniss loops her arm around my waist and puts her chin on my shoulder. I flick an amused glance in her direction but her eyes are fixed on the awning. "It's pretty," she remarks. "It looks festive." Her hand splays on my stomach and she pats me absently. "You should be proud of yourself, Peeta. Your father would have loved it." She presses herself against my back and she drops a kiss onto my shoulder. "I love you. Thank you for letting me be a part of this."

I lace her fingers through mine and rest my cheek against her hair. "You're the only person that I want with me. I couldn't have done this without you, Katniss. This is as much yours as it is mine." My eyes touch on the cornerstone. That had been Katniss' contribution to the design. She had spoken with Thom one afternoon when I thought she was in the woods. The rubble had been cleared and the old brick oven demolished. Once the ground had been prepared, the foundation had been placed and the first stones set. The cornerstone had been etched with the names of my family along with the date they died. She had included a quote which she had pored over for hours before choosing. Below my brother Seth's name was written: "Family is not an important thing, it's everything." As I looked at the face of the woman who is for all intents and purposes my family, my heart skips a few beats. "Thank you," I whisper and press my lips to her temple. She huffs out a laugh and then turns once more to examine the proud façade.

I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, next week, or next year. I know that the past few years have been bearable only because of the girl standing with me now. What we lost and sacrificed can't be calculated. It's true worth will never be known. The Hunger Games is a black hole that destroyed everything it touched. Innocence and hope were the first to go but they were not lost, merely misplaced. While I still have bad days when all I can see are misery and despair, there is one thing that keeps me going. It is my candle when everything else falls to black. Katniss Everdeen didn't always love me. I didn't always love her. Despite that, we found each other during the darkest days. We helped and protected each other just like we always have. We survived.

The love came later. Pain was something that I had come to accept as a foregone conclusion. It took finding my way back to Katniss to realize that in the pain, there is life. You can't have light without shadow. You can't have love without hate or pleasure without pain. The gray area between those extremes is where we exist, where we survive. She who was the consummate survivor is my greatest teacher in learning to live again. She is my hope that good will always follow no matter how bad it gets. She tells me that we're strong enough to face whatever comes. Together, we can do anything. We can be happy. We can love. That is the greatest gift I could hope for.

FINIS ALONE IS A FIVE LETTER WORD FOR PAIN

THANK YOU FOR READING.

SALANDERJADE


End file.
